


To a World Full of Rogues...

by KitSolent



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, Gen, Original Character(s), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:55:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitSolent/pseuds/KitSolent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small deviations in Edward's adventures help to redirect his story for the better, and fixing his mess is a lot easier with help from his friends, new and old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trouble at Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little late to the AC IV party, but hopefully there's still a few of you around. Maybe you missed the last bus or something.  
> This is my first ever fic, so I'm kind of testing the water with this first chapter. The next chapters will definitely be longer than this. All comments and criticisms are welcome.

Cape Bonavista, 1715

_Mr. Duncan Walpole,_

_I accept your most generous offer, and await your arrival with eagerness._  
 _If you truly possess the information we desire, we have the means to reward you handsomely._  
 _Though I will not know your face by sight, I believe I can recognise the costume made infamous by your secret order._  
 _Therefore, come to Havana in haste, and trust that you should be welcomed as a brother._  


_Your most humble servant,  
Governor Laureano Torres y Ayala._

Edward James Kenway had been at sea for nearly three years, working as a British privateer all around the West Indies. It was an opportunity to earn a decent wage, so that when he returned to England, he could give his wife the life she deserved, not the one of poverty that she'd had to endure when she first married him.

It was all looking a lot less feasible now. The Treaty of Utrecht had brought an end to the conflict between Britain and Spain, and privateers were no longer needed, so Edward's captain, Abel Bramah, had forced his crew into piracy. But Bramah was dead now, killed by a man in strange robes after he sank a British frigate. Bramah's ship, the _Jacobite_ , was now resting on the seabed, along with all of Edward’s savings.

As he lay there in the sand, with seagulls whirling above his head, it thought it foolish that he thought he could ever be the man his wife deserved. It seemed his life's luck had been all but consumed in bringing Caroline into his life, and now it had finally run dry. He was on an unfamiliar beach, with no ship, no money, no name that anyone back home would recognise, just his life, and a rusty sword that he’d won in a card game (in which he’d cheated).

\---

Not ten minutes later, the man who’d killed his captain was lying dead before him, and Edward was busy donning his robes and testing out his new sword. According to the letter in the robed man’s now slightly bloodstained satchel, Bramah’s killer was called Duncan Walpole, and had been on his way to Havana for a meeting with the Governor there, Laureano Torres. In exchange for a few maps and an odd-looking glass cube, he would be _rewarded handsomely_. Edward assumed that from a governor, that meant a lot of money.

The best part of it all was that Torres had never actually met Walpole, so he would be identifying him only by the robes of some _secret order_ he’d belonged to. It made sense. You’d have to be out of your mind to wear such a bizarre outfit for any other reason...

Unlikely as the scenario seemed, it was Edward’s second chance, and it was all so _simple_. Pretend to be Walpole, bring the contents of his satchel to the Governor, get his handsome reward, then disappear from the West Indies and return to his beloved Caroline.

Edward could see a merchant schooner anchored just offshore in a small cove. Her crew was being held at gunpoint by the surviving sailors of the HMS _Intrigue_ , the frigate that Bramah had been trying to take (before Walpole's intervention). The schooner’s captain had just been shot to subdue the remaining crew, much to the distress of a man dressed in the fine clothes of a sugar merchant. He was pleading with the British officer to let him go, insisting he took no part in the battle of the previous night. Well that was bloody obvious. His ship wasn’t in any way armed, and she didn’t have a single scratch on her. But the officer didn’t care, he had orders to go to Kingston, and so he was to commandeer the merchant's ship. And they called men like Edward pirates!

There were four soldiers on patrol and three more guarding the merchant, including the officer. Creeping through clusters of waist-high greenery that he hoped wasn’t poisonous, he used bird-like whistles to draw the patrolmen into the vegetation, where they would be promptly killed and hidden. The last three were all clustered around the prisoners, so he threw a small pebble at the officer, catching him on the shoulder. The man looked about to see who had thrown it, apparently not realising that since there was no one there, it meant the guards were gone too. Pride of the King’s Navy, this one. The officer turned back to the prisoners for a second, then froze. When he turned back around, his sword was at the ready, and so was one of Edward’s, though he was still well hidden. Edward threw another pebble, drawing the officer towards his hiding spot, then jumped up and thrust his sword through the man’s neck, using the embedded implement to heave the body in the direction of cover. With only two soldiers left, both with their backs to him, Edward sprinted forward and impaled them with his dual swords.

The merchant Edward had begun untying was a well-fed man in his late twenties, and from his posh clothes and demeanour, probably born into the level of wealth that Edward had been dreaming of for years. It looked like the bloke never had to lift anything heavier than a paperweight, and yet he had his own ship and his own business. Edward felt a pang of resentment when he thought of how hard he’d worked for his own gains, but he kept it out of sight. He needed the man's ship to get to Havana. Besides, it was probably the first time the man had ever been held at gunpoint. He was still shaking, the poor sod. He deserved sympathy, not prejudice.

“By God’s grace, sir, you saved me. A profusion of thanks!” He gasped, in an accent that matched his attire.

“Don’t mention it,” Edward replied. “Is that your ship? Fancy looking thing.” The ship’s sails were trimmed with cyan and her hull was striped with pinkish-red, mint green, and golden yellow, and complete with gilded trim and fittings. Edward thought it looked awful, but it was his only way off the island, and he didn’t want to upset her owner.

“Thank you. She’s called the _Revenge_ ,” The man beamed. Edward suppressed a smirk, marking the ship's bronze figurehead, a prancing unicorn. The merchant continued, oblivious to Edward’s reaction. “I use it to traffic cargo from my plantation, but it was my captain who handled the sailing. This poor chap here.” He gestured to the man lying in the sand a few feet away.

Edward turned to him. “I can sail. What do you say to us getting off this island?”

“Really?” The man’s face brightened. “My destination is Havana, do you know the way?”

Edward almost laughed at that. “Of course. I’m headed there too, for a meeting with the Governor, no less.” From the water's edge he began counting the _Revenge_ 's crewman and making note of the available sails, trying to estimate the ship's speed in a good wind.

The man followed him down the beach. “Well this is excellent!” He grinned. “Stede Bonnet.” He said, offering Edward both his name and his hand to shake.

Edward decided that he’d have to start answering by Walpole’s name if he was to pass as him. “Duncan Walpole.” He said, shaking Bonnet’s hand.

Bonnet wasn't used to shaking the rough, dirty hands of sailors. “I’m afraid there’s no rowboat.”

“No worries, I could use a swim.” Edward replied, taking to the water. He was in a cheerful mood now, glad to be getting off the island.

Bonnet waded out into the shallows too, his billowing outfit slowing his progress considerably. “Oh, oh, this is difficult - I should have taken the coat off...” he said, mainly to himself.

Edward was the first to reach Bonnet’s ship, and was at the wheel by the time it’s owner heaved himself on deck. 

“Welcome aboard, Duncan. She’s a modest schooner, but well suited to my purpose.” Bonnet said, settling himself on a crate

“She’ll do just fine. There’s a strong wind now. Let’s strike to full, shall we?” Edward gave the orders to let loose the sails, easing the ship out of the cove.

Bonnet, now satisfied that everything was going to be alright, was eager to establish a rapport with his rescuer. “You’re a natural sailor, Duncan.” He said, once Edward had steered them clear of the sandbars that had settled around the cove.

“I did a decent trick at the helm some time ago,” Edward smiled. “Two years before the mast as a privateer.”

“Dash my buttons! Your life seems a grand one, if I may say so,” Bonnet went over to the railing, grinning out to sea. “So full of adventure! How marvellous...”

“I've seen my fair share of strangeness, aye.”

\---

Edward and Bonnet got along rather well after that, and were almost halfway to Havana when new trouble arose. A ship on the horizon, flying the colours of the British Royal Navy. Bonnet was puzzled as to why the ship changed it’s course to meet them, but Edward was more concerned. He informed Bonnet that pirates often flew false colours until their prize was within range of their cannons. His theory was confirmed when he borrowed Bonnet’s spyglass and saw that none of the men aboard the Navy ship were in uniform. He corrected the _Revenge_ ’s course so they’d be out of range for as long as possible, but the other ship had the wind on their side. When they were within cannon range, the other ship swapped it’s British flag for a plain black one, to Bonnet’s dismay.

“Oh! They’ll take all our sugar, I’ll have nothing to sell when we make port!”

“It’s okay, Bonnet.” Edward said, lowering the spyglass a second time.

“No it’s not! I’ll be penniless!” He lowered his voice to an urgent whisper, “I might not even have enough to pay the crew!”

“Bonnet, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” he said, almost nonchalantly.

Bonnet sounded exasperated. “‘Take care of it’? How do you propose to fend off a shipload of pirates, hm?”

Edward simply turned to the other ship and watched as she drew alongside the _Revenge_. Her captain signalled for his crew to be quiet, raising his voice so that both crews could hear his message.

“Ahoy there! My name is Edward Thatch, and I come to offer you quarter on this delightful afternoon,” He said. Bonnet actually started whimpering. “I see you have no cannons, and your crew is mostly unarmed. I suppose you’ll be taking my offer?”

Edward took a deep breath. “Captain Thatch!”

Thatch turned to look at him, recognising the voice. “Kenway? That you? Didn't know you'd become a _monk_.” He said, gesturing to Edward's robes.

“They're only temporary,” Edward assured him. “I need to get to Havana, and the _Jacobite_ 's nothing but driftwood," He gestured to Bonnet. "This gentleman here was kind enough to let me pilot his ship."

Thatch seemed to chuckle at that. “Well, you’d better be careful, I hear there’s some right rogues 'round these parts! Meet me in Nassau when you've got the time!” He called, signalling for his crew to get the ship underway again.

“You have my word!” Edward shouted in reply as Thatch's ship sailed off in search of other prizes.

Bonnet stared open-mouthed at Thatch’s ship, and then at Edward. “You know that man?”

“We were privateers together, before the Treaty was signed. Now, we really must get to Havana...”


	2. Lively Havana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Bonnet arrive in Havana, and it seems misfortune still plagues them.

Havana, July 1715

The _Revenge_ slid into Havana’s harbour later that day, no worse for wear despite her run-in with pirates. For Bonnet, the shock of the morning’s ordeal had soon worn off over the calm waters. Edward was starting to feel nervous about his upcoming meeting with the governor, so he decided he’d delay his meeting a day or two, until he was ready.

He helped the crew to unload the sugar, while Bonnet located a merchant to begin trade negotiations.

“It's mad to think Spain and England were at war two years ago, isn't it? Here I am, bartering with Spaniards like they were my cousins! Thanks for all your help, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it. You said you’d been to Havana before, do you know anywhere I can catch a quick kip?”

“Of course. I’m just headed to a public house now, to meet with some merchants. I’ll show you the way. It would be a great relief to have a man of your stature nearby. In case of a... Misunderstanding.”

“I’ll stay there all day, as long as there’s a drink in front of me.”

“Splendid.”

Bonnet lead Edward through the busy streets, smiling at everyone he passed. They came across a weapons dealer, and Bonnet expressed a desire to arm himself, which was not unreasonable given the events of the past day.

“Ah! A purveyor of personal defences! Perhaps I should acquire a blade for myself, just as you have.”

“They’re cheaper in pairs, and I could use a new cutlass. You could get one for yourself, give me the other one, and I’ll pay you back later.”

“Oh. Very well. You seem to know your weapons, so here,” Bonnet handed Edward the money. “Maybe some Spanish blades, to suit our location?”

Edward bought a set of British cutlasses, a good match for Walpole’s one in both weight and length. Bonnet seemed quite pleased with his.

“Ah, we look quite the pair, you and I. Twin devils!” Then his face fell. “Oh, puffer-duff... I've lead us astray, Duncan.”

“That’s alright. I’ll get us a better view. What are we looking for?” Edward said, already climbing the walls of a nearby church.

“A tavern, with a sort of courtyard interior,” Bonnet watched as Edward pulled himself onto the church’s roof and leapt onto the belltower. “My goodness, you’re an agile chap!”

“Every finger’s a fishhook,” Edward said, hauling himself onto the roof of the tower, “That’s how you tell a true sailor.” He inched around the spire until he was level with a protruding roof beam and crouched over it’s edge, taking in the view. Havana looked wonderful from up here, all whitewashed plaster walls and dusty tiled roofs, sandy roads and palm trees. The sea behind him was a beautiful shade of blue, and far ahead of him there were mountains clustered with emerald trees. “I think I see the place,” He shouted down to Bonnet. “We’re not far off.”

The reply he got from Bonnet was a sort of worried gasp, and Edward could see him below, struggling with a street thief.

“Hang tight, Bonnet!” He told him, looking for a way down that was faster than climbing.

He saw a cart filled with hay near the bottom of the church tower, wide enough for him to fit, and hopefully piled high enough to break his fall. He spread his arms like an eagle taking flight and dived off the edge of the church tower, landing in the dead centre of the hay. He was right about it breaking his fall, and now that he was on ground level, he could chase Bonnet’s mugger. He leapt out of the cart in a shower of hay and started sprinting. While Edward did his best not to knock anyone over in his pursuit, the thief had no qualms about throwing anyone in his way to the ground. It did the rogue no favours in the end, because a few minutes into the chase, he knocked into a lady carrying a vase of flowers, then carried on down the street, straight into a fist belonging to her husband. He didn’t have time to get back to his feet before Edward had him by the collar, demanding that he forfeit the contents of his pockets. There were two hundred reales in the thief’s purse, plus whatever was in Bonnet’s. Edward left the thief at the mercy of the lady’s husband and went back to Bonnet, asking how much had been stolen while he got his breath back.

“Only twenty or thirty reales, all that remained after you bought our swords. A shame that the sight of mine at my side wasn’t enough to deter the thief...”

“At least you didn’t have to use it,” Edward said, still a little breathless. He handed Bonnet back his purse, and the thief’s. “Consider this the start of my repayment.”

“Oh, excellent. Crime _doesn’t_ pay, it seems. We’re nearly at the the tavern, now. You must be thirsty from your chase. Let me get you a drink.”

“If you insist.” Edward replied.

\---

Bonnet spotted the group merchants he was to meet, all huddled around a table, deep in conversation. He went to get Edward the drink he’d promised him, and Edward sat down at a spare table across from a sleeping drunk. One sailor had been paying close attention to the young woman on his knee, until he’d heard Edward’s accent.

“Fancy meeting a Welshman deep in Dago country. I’m English meself. Biding me time ‘till the next war calls me to service.”

Edward ‘borrowed’ a half-empty bottle from the drunk on the other side of his table. “You’ll be waiting a long time,” he told the other sailor. “Trade’s starting to pick up where it left off, and the colonies on both sides are happier for it. Pointless letting that go to waste.” He told him, with a sympathetic look to assure the other man that he wasn’t being sour.

The sailor paused, in deep thought for a moment. “I suppose so,” He said casually. “At least I’ll have something to do in the meantime...” He gave the girl on his knee an extra squeeze to emphasise the point he was making.

Edward smiled and took a sip of his drink, not noticing that the drunk in front of him was creeping back to consciousness. “Know anywhere I can get some company of my own? I've not the charm, but I've got the money.”

“New to Havana, are ya? You’ll find most of ‘em out on the street, you can’t miss ‘em,” He said, ignoring the look of distaste he got from the girl on his lap. “Most of the lasses don’t speak a word of English. Not always a bad thing.”

Bonnet came over with a bottle of rum, before bidding Edward adieu to go meet with the merchants.

“At least gold’s the same in every country.” Edward told the sailor as he opened the fresh bottle.

The drunk at Edward’s table was now nearly half-awake, and had just realised that he’d had a bottle in his hand when he’d fallen asleep. He guessed correctly that Edward had stolen it.

“Oi, skulk!” The drunk slurred, trying to stand up so he could appear more intimidating. Unfortunately for the him, he tripped over his own feet as he was getting up, and fell off the table. Apparently that was enough to send him back to sleep, so Edward relaxed once more.

“Sleep well, then.”

He stayed at the tavern until Bonnet had concluded his business. Judging by the way he grinned at him as he walked over, Edward assumed the negotiations had gone well.

“Found a buyer?” He asked, as Bonnet went and bought them a drink each.

“Yes, and he’s offering much more than I expected,” Bonnet replied, stepping carefully over the drunk, who was still fast asleep on the floor. “I’ll have made quite the profit of my trip.”

“Excellent news,” Edward congratulated him. “Where to now?”

“Oh, back to my ship to bring the rest of the sugar. Could you lend a hand? I’d be so grateful.”

“Alright. But after that I need to go and find Governor Torres.”

They finished their drinks, Edward said farewell to the sailor he’d met, and they got up to leave. Unfortunately, a small group of nefarious individuals had been waiting for them outside. Their leader, an imposing man at least a foot taller than Edward, grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the outer wall of the tavern. Two others drew knives from their pockets and made Bonnet hand over his purse again, along with the one Edward had taken from the mugger earlier that day.

“See? Told ya these was the ones,” Said the one that collected Bonnet’s purses. His face was badly bruised, but Edward recognised him as the thief from earlier. “Two Englishmen, one fat, one not.”

“I’m Welsh,” Edward insisted. “And he’s not that fat.” He glanced at Bonnet, who was too busy looking around for a guard patrol.

“Shut up!” The leader snapped. “You took my lad’s money, and now I’m gonna take it out of your hide!”

“Look, mate, it doesn’t have to be like this.” Edward said, reaching for a small blade he kept tucked into the back of his waistband for this sort of occasion.

“Oh really?” The leader said, then hesitated. “I've seen your face before.”

“Really? I’m sure I would've remembered.” Edward knew he wasn’t far from being recognised, and there was no peaceful way out of this situation. He’d also discovered that because he was now wearing Walpole’s robes, he’d have to undo the sash around his waist to get at his knife.

“You’s friends with them pirates down in Nassau!”

Edward had a new plan, he just needed a momentary distraction. “Actually, Nassau’s further North than Havana, so it’s ‘up in Nassau’.”

“You wha-”

Edward interrupted him with a headbutt to the jaw, followed by a knee to the stomach and a kick that sent the brute tumbling across the road. This only angered the other two, who stepped into the fight but were swiftly booted back out again. As soon as Edward had enough space he drew his swords, motioning for Bonnet to get himself somewhere safe. Someone must have called the guards, because Bonnet rounded a corner and ran straight into a group of soldiers. One of them grabbed him, the rest carried on, and within seconds Edward was surrounded. The thieves scurried away without so much as dusting themselves off, leaving Edward and Bonnet to explain themselves to the Spanish soldiers.

The soldiers confiscated Bonnet’s sugar and Edward’s satchel, and beat them both for good measure. It could've been worse, of course, but now Edward had lost the glass cube he was going to be _rewarded handsomely ___for, and Bonnet was miserable. He was trying to hide it, saying how glad he was he’d come this far, but Edward knew how it felt to have what seemed like the worst luck in the world. But he also knew that it could just as easily get better. When he’d got his ‘second chance’ in Cape Bonavista, the letter from Torres had given him step-by-step instructions. This time, he’d have to draw up a plan of his own, that was all.

\---

By that afternoon, Edward had a plan. It was a bit vague, but the initial risks were small and he was starting to get restless. He went to tell Bonnet. 

“I’m going to follow those soldiers over there, and find out where they’re keeping your sugar, and my satchel.” He said. 

“I’ll come with you,” Bonnet said. “It’s not like they’d suspect _me_ of spying on them.” 

“Alright then. Just keep quiet and out of sight.” 

“Oh, I will!” Stede looked excited to be on the move again, despite having been held at gunpoint by British soldiers, stopped by pirates, mugged in the streets, and beaten by Spanish guards, all within two days. 

Edward was concerned that he didn’t quite understand what was they were about to do. He placed a hand on Bonnet’s shoulder, causing him to stop. “I’m serious. If they catch you, we won’t have a chance of getting your sugar back. So act like you’re just part of the crowd. If they turn around, don’t look at them, if you think they’re suspicious of you, hang back a bit. Got it?”  
“Yes, I think I understand.” Bonnet seemed more focused now. 

They set off after the Spanish soldiers, and Bonnet seemed to be doing well, keeping his distance from both the soldiers and Edward. Their targets walked through a market to meet with a merchant, and one of them looked around to see if they were followed. Edward ducked behind a nearby wall, then looked for Bonnet, who calmly approached a stall and began to browse the wares on display. Edward was amazed, Bonnet was a natural! The soldiers moved on, and Edward went over to congratulate him. 

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Bonnet!” 

“What? Oh, yes, it was rather shrewd of me. Unfortunately, I now have to buy something, to appease the vendor.” 

“Alright, I’ll keep moving, and meet you back at your ship when I find out where your sugar’s being kept.” Edward whispered quickly. 

“Okay Duncan. Good luck!” Bonnet whispered. 

“Cheers, mate.” 

Edward had to jog to catch up to the soldiers, who were escorting a British merchant to their captain, a man named Mendoza. It seemed Mendoza owed the merchant for a shipment of slaves, and was planning on paying for them with Bonnet’s confiscated sugar! And they called men like Edward pirates! As soon as Edward thought it, he realised he’d had the exact same thought yesterday morning, when British soldiers had declared that Bonnet was a pirate so they could commandeer his ship. It seemed that even a ruthless pirate like Thatch had treated him better. That told you something. 

Edward was roused from his thoughts by the sound of a bell ringing to indicate the start of the hanging. The soldiers urged the merchant to run, and Edward did the same, tailing them to the edge of the harbour. A platform had been set up for the hanging, and Mendoza was stood upon it, reading out the list of crimes for which the man would hang. The executioner was called El Tiburón, one of Torres’ men. According to one of the soldiers, Bonnet’s sugar was being held in the Castillo, a large concrete fort built to protect the harbour from rival empires and pirates. After the hanging, Edward waited around while Mendoza met with the merchant and agreed to have some of his soldiers transfer Bonnet’s sugar to the merchant’s ship. Once the soldiers left and Mendoza was on his own, Edward quickly relieved him of the key to the Castillo lock-up. He’d get his satchel first, then see if he could do something about Bonnet’s sugar. 

Getting into the Castillo was surprisingly easy. There was a tree on the left that lead onto a wooden beam sticking out of the fort wall. From the beam, Edward used the metal projections embedded in the wall to haul himself up to the battlements, then, wary of the guards manning them, shuffled along to the West corner and climbed up the castle’s belltower. Though the guards on the walls occasionally glanced down at the harbour or the market, none ever thought to look up. Edward stood watching their movements for a few minutes, then, at the next safe opportunity, dropped down to their level. He ignored the guards patrolling in the central courtyard, instead focusing on the two sharpshooters on the storehouse roof, over on the Southeast side of the fort. They’d stand on the edge of the roof, look out over the harbour for a few moments, then walk back to the centre of the roof, where they could see the rest of the fort and most of the courtyard. Edward crept clockwise around the top of the fort, using stacks of crates for cover when the sharpshooters were looking, and knocking passing guards over the edges and into the water when their backs were turned. It worked perfectly, and soon he was at the storehouse door. 

He unlocked it as quietly as he could and stepped inside to find a Spanish soldier crouching by one of the sugar crates. The young man jumped to his feet when he saw Edward in the doorway, but it was guilt that read on his face, not aggression or fear. 

“Who are you?” The soldier asked, backing away from the crate. 

“Erm, Duncan? Listen, I need what’s in this room, and there isn't a wall I can push you off, so...” Edward drew one of his swords. 

“No! Please don’t, I won’t tell anyone I saw you!” The man said, raising his hands in surrender. His English was certainly better than Edward’s Spanish. 

Edward sighed and waved his sword about impatiently. “Yeah? How do I know you won’t raise the alarm as soon as I’m gone?” 

“Because I’m not supposed to be here either.” The man replied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I'm going to try and post a new chapter each week, gradually bringing in events and characters that help Edward to avert the game's canon ending (which was touching, but I believe Edward deserves better).


	3. Sugar Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The soldier in the Castillo has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's only short, but the next one will be along in just a few days.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Edward’s curiosity got the better of him. “What _are_ you doing here, then?” He said, sheathing his sword.

The soldier looked at the floor and sighed, “I am here to spoil Captain Mendoza’s sugar,” At his feet was a crowbar for opening the crates, a hammer for resealing them, and a jug filled with seawater. Edward wasn’t sure what effect it would have on the sugar, but he was sure it wouldn’t improve it. “When the merchant he’s trading with finds the sugar is tainted, he will take it up with Governor Torres, and Mendoza will be forced to resign for his behaviour.”

“Natural allies, then.” Edward wandered between the stacked crates in search of his satchel. “Mendoza took all this sugar from a friend of mine, over a _huge_ misunderstanding. I’m here to try and get it back,” He found his satchel and held it out for the soldier to see. “Along with this. We’re set to leave port empty-handed, otherwise.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” The soldier said. “Mendoza is a selfish and greedy man, without any care for right and wrong.”

“Oh, I know all about that. Just yesterday, some British soldiers tried to commandeer my friend’s ship. He was on his way to Havana, but they wanted to go to Kingston, so they shot his captain and held him at gunpoint until he gave in. All perfectly legal when you’re flying the right flag.”

The soldier nodded and sat down on a crate, his brow furrowed. Up until now, he’d thought Mendoza’s exploitation unique. He had hoped that once the Governor had heard of it, then Mendoza would be replaced by someone fairer and more principled. But if both nations were unashamedly corrupt, what could possibly be done? He thought on his situation a little longer, and an idea came to him.

“Mendoza will issue instructions to bring the crates to the merchant’s ship tomorrow morning. What if the instructions directed them to your friend’s ship instead? None of the lower ranks will know if it’s the Captain’s handwriting.”

“That’s brilliant,” Edward exclaimed. He’d been trying to figure out whether the crates would float if he threw them off the battlements into the harbour, so he and Bonnet could go and fish them out, but the Spaniard’s plan was much better. “I suppose you’ll be the one doing the forging? I can’t speak much Spanish, let alone write it.”

“Of course. But you must do something for me.”

“What’s that, then?”

“Take me with you when you leave port. I no longer wish to serve under men like Mendoza.”

“I’m not going anywhere yet, but my friend Bonnet will leave for his plantation as soon as his sugar is sold. He’ll take you anywhere you want, for helping him get his sugar back.”

“Thank you,” the man said, holding out his hand. “My name is Dante Garcia, what is yours?”

“Duncan Walpole.” Edward said, shaking his hand. It was getting easier to lie, with each new person he introduced himself to.

They broke down their plan into steps. Edward would find Mendoza and return the key as soon as possible. When Mendoza sent out the instructions, Garcia would make a forgery and swap it with the original, directing the sugar to Bonnet’s ship. Bonnet himself would stay below decks, pretending to be ill, in case any of the soldiers bringing the sugar had been part of the merchant’s escort. Bonnet’s crew would receive the sugar and then bring it to the other merchant that Bonnet had been meaning to sell it to until the fight outside the tavern. When all this was done, the _Revenge_ was to weigh anchor and leave port as quickly as they could, with Garcia safely on board.

\---

That evening, Edward found Mendoza and returned his key, then went back to the _Revenge_ to explain everything to Bonnet. Well, not everything.

“Bonnet, I bring you good news!” Edward told him. “I've managed to convince Captain Mendoza to return your sugar.”

“Splendid! You are a _wonder_ , Duncan.”

“His men will bring it down from the Castillo for you, but there’s a catch. Three, in fact.”

“Oh?”

“You have to be out of Havana by tomorrow afternoon, whether you've sold it all off or not.”

“Ah,” Bonnet thought on it for a moment. “I suppose this Mendoza fellow sees me as a troublemaker, and wishes to prevent any further disruption to his fair city.” He chuckled at the very thought.

“I suppose so,” Edward grinned. “The second catch is that you have to stay below decks. I told Mendoza it was my sugar, to get him to listen to me. If you’re on deck, the soldiers will think they have the wrong ship, or that I was trying to take advantage of Mendoza by getting him to bring it straight to the buyer.”

“Alright. I appreciate everything you've done, I really do.”

“The third catch is a man named Garcia. He translated for me when I went to see the Captain. Without his help, I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. He requested passage on your ship as payment.”

“Very well. There’s more than enough room for him.”

“Will you sail back to your plantation?” Edward asked.

“Yes, I suppose, back to the tedium of domesticity.”

Though Edward would've given anything to be welcomed back home by his wife, he could understand why Bonnet didn’t. The high seas and foreign shores gave a man a sense of freedom that simply couldn’t be matched elsewhere.

“Don’t settle for tedium. Sail for Nassau.” Edward told him.

Bonnet chuckled at that. “I thought Nassau was crawling with pirates, why would I want to sail there? Seems a very tawdry place.”

“Not tawdry. Liberated. A place where men are free to live as they please.”

“Really? That would be an adventure. But no, I’m a husband and a father, I have responsibilities...”

“Bonnet, how long were you planning on staying in Havana?”

“A few more weeks, why?”

Edward shrugged. “Enough time to visit Nassau, sample it’s pleasures, and return home?”

“That’s... That’s brilliant, Duncan! I’ll sail for Nassau, then!”

“Have fun.” Edward grinned. “Oh, one last thing...”

“Yes?”

“‘Duncan’ is only a handle. My real name’s Edward.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“The...” Bonnet lowered his voice. “The _pirate_ we met on our way here called you something else, something that wasn’t ‘Duncan Walpole’. I... I wasn’t in the right state to take notice at the time, but it’s been playing on my mind ever since the incident outside the tavern.”

Edward nodded, “I’m sorry, Bonnet. I would've told you earlier.”

“It’s to do with your meeting with the Governor, isn't it?”

Edward was relieved that Bonnet was being so amicable about the situation.“Yes, I needed a false name so I could travel freely between the colonies.”

“I understand. I suppose the Governor still awaits your arrival?”

“He does, and I suppose I've kept him waiting long enough. You know what you have to do?

“Stay below decks, sell the sugar as fast as I can, and take this Garcia fellow with me when I leave.”

“Excellent. Goodbye, Bonnet.”

“Farewell... Edward.”


	4. Mister Walpole, I Presume?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward goes to meet with Torres, using both his luck and his talent for improvisation to bluff his way into the Templar Grand Master's trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, I've been settling into an apprenticeship this week, and so far I haven't had much spare time. The next chapter might take a while as well, but I'm not leaving this until everyone's happy.

Edward saw the _Revenge_ off at the harbour, then started making his way toward the Governor’s mansion, at the Southwest corner of the city. Despite everything that had happened since he’d arrived, he felt Havana was one of the nicest cities he’d ever been to. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t understand what people were saying about him as he passed, or perhaps it was because there were far fewer rats scurrying about than in Nassau. Either way, he slowed his pace, trying to take in as much of the city as he could before his meeting with Torres. Something told him he wouldn’t be hanging around after.

As he walked, he began to feel like he was being watched. The guards probably weren't too pleased to see a foreigner wandering about their city, especially one whose very clothes seemed to have been fashioned from a spare Union Jack, but that wasn’t what made Edward nervous. Every time he turned a corner, he’d glance back down the street, and there would be someone in robes similar to his, following him. He started to walk more quickly, too focused on his stalker to worry about cutting short his pleasant stroll through the city. He grew even more uneasy when he saw that there were more following him. There must have been three or four of them following him, some creeping across rooftops overhead, some moving along with the crowds behind him. He started to jog down the street, weaving between the larger groups of people, knowing that whatever the pursuers were planning to do, he was better off in the middle of a crowd. As he passed an alleyway, he saw white robes whip past on the other side. Trying to cut off his escape. He broke into a run, sprinting down the streets as the crowds started to thin. He was breathless by the time he shot out into the open space between the city’s buildings and Governor Torres’ mansion. There were groups of guards patrolling the walls around the perimeter, and others stationed on the roof and around the large gatehouse. Glancing behind him, Edward saw that he was no longer being followed. Perhaps they couldn’t get at him in the open, with so many soldiers nearby, or perhaps they’d only been keeping an eye on him. The latter was very unlikely.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind for now, and put on his best English accent to greet the guards at the gate.

“ _Buenos días_. Mister Duncan Walpole of England to see the Governor.”

“Sí, Señor Walpole. Entrar, por favor.”

As Edward made his way around to the back of the mansion, he overheard groups of soldiers talking about him. His grasp of Spanish was more in the realm of drinks and whores than actual conversation, but the word ‘assassino’ caught his attention. An assassin? Is that what Walpole was? It made sense, what with the particular way he’d killed Captain Bramah. Edward supposed it was easier than taking down a whole ship just to kill one man. He’d have to pay attention to Torres for clues as to what kind of man he was meant to be impersonating.

The mansion sat on a low hill, and surrounded a central courtyard with an ornamental pond, where gardeners tended to the shrubs and trees, and servants swept and scrubbed the tiled floors. A marble staircase lead down to the South side of the mansion, overlooking the gardens and sugarcane fields. Two men were stood there, taking shots at some human-shaped targets that had been set up on the balcony.

One of them noticed Edward and came over to greet him. He had short, chestnut coloured hair and a large, complex scar on his cheek. The brown leather coat he wore was favoured by the industrialists of London, but his scar betrayed a more violent past, and possibly present. Was the wound from shrapnel, or a gunshot? Edward couldn’t tell, so he politely ignored it, focusing instead on the man's eyes as he began to speak.

“Good morning, sir! Would I be correct in thinking you are Duncan Walpole?”

Edward did his best to keep his new accent in check, “I am indeed.”

“I thought as much. Woodes Rogers. A pleasure.” He held out his hand for Edward to shake.

“The same.” Edward shook the man’s hand, taking note of the relative smoothness of his palm. If Rogers had seen battle, it certainly wasn’t as one of the lower ranks.

Rogers surveyed him for a moment. “I must say, my wife has a terrible eye for description.”

Edward’s heart skipped a beat. Had Rogers’ wife described Walpole to him in enough detail for him to realise Edward was an impostor? “Oh?” He said innocently.

“You met her some years ago, at the Percy’s masquerade ball. She described you as devilishly handsome.”

Edward was relieved to hear such a loose description, though a little insulted that his features and ‘devilishly handsome’ were so far apart. “Perhaps she only meant with the mask _on_?” He quipped.

Rogers laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Perhaps. Julien, our guest of honour has arrived!” he called to the other man, who had been comparing the pistols laid out on the table before him.

“Ah. Julien du Casse,” The man said, shaking Edward’s hand. He was more suitably dressed for the hot weather, a cotton shirt pulled open over his chest, loose-fitting trousers, and a wide-brimmed hat that shielded his head and shoulders from the sun. The scarlet cape he wore matched the sash around his waist, which cushioned the pistol belts that were strapped tightly to his muscular frame. “I hope your conversion to our Order is an honest one. I have no love for Assassins, but even less for liars.” The way du Casse said the word ‘assassins’ stuck out to Edward. If he’d been better versed in the English language, he could have said it sounded more like a _proper_ noun than a _common one_. As it was, he had no idea how to describe it, so he moved on.

“I have not come to disappoint.” He assured them both.

“Up for a bit of sport, Duncan?” Rogers said, offering him a pistol. “The old man isn't ready for us just yet.”

“Certainly.” Edward wasn’t sure if it was his newly-established accent, or the company he was in that was making him speak so poshly all of a sudden. He equipped himself with four pistols, fastening their respective belts comfortably.

“Those are my two best pairs of matched pistols. Be careful with them.” Rogers warned.

“If I had eight, I’d treat each as my own son.” Edward assured him, taking aim. He pulled off a few shots, familiarising himself with the pistols. When he had fired all of them, an assistant took the pistols and reloaded them for him.

“I once fought beside a man who carried nine on his person,” Du Casse said, “They were a boon in battle, but hindered his ability to swim, sadly.”

“You were a soldier?” Edward asked him, 

“A long time ago, yes. But my country would have me no higher than a _Sous-lieutenant_ , on account of my birth and blood.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It is of no concern of mine any more. As Templars, we are free from the authority of governments, of empires, even. We will work together to drive humanity away from what undermines it, yes?”

Edward nodded, trying to process this new information. So du Casse was a 'Templar', a member of some sort of order fixated on guiding the world into a better state, one where someone’s class or parentage didn’t hold them back from getting what they deserved. It sounded almost too good to be true.

“Enough amusements, Duncan. How about a true challenge?” Rogers said, taking out an hourglass and holding it horizontally above the table. “Try to strike every target before the hourglass empties.”

“Easy.” Edward replied, taking his place between the two other men and aiming with two pistols at once.

Rogers placed the hourglass on the table firmly, the noise signalling the start of the challenge. Edward’s first two shots tore in the chests of their respective targets, and he immediately swapped the spent pistols for the other pair. Two more targets fell, but now Edward had to reload to shoot the final pair of targets. The assistant who’d been reloading them was now nowhere to be seen. He went to the table for powder and shot, but someone had taken the powder flask. He heard du Casse chuckling from behind him. He glanced at the hourglass, there wasn’t much sand left in the top. Rogers started laughing too. For them, it was mostly a jest, but Edward knew that they’d never learn to respect someone they could so easily exploit for their own enjoyment. Edward couldn’t be beaten by them.

Edward _wouldn’t_ be beaten by them. They were holding pistols of their own, he realised. He snatched a spare from each of them and took the last two shots, punching holes in the targets’ straw-filled heads. The other men went silent for a moment. Rogers glanced at the hourglass in time to see the last few grains trickling away. Du Casse was still holding the missing powder flask. Then they both began laughing again, and congratulated Edward on his quick thinking. Edward handed back the borrowed pistols, and something drew du Casse’s attention.

“Duncan, where are your wristblades? I have never seen an Assassin so ill-equipped.” He said.

Edward remembered the blades he’d discarded in Cape Bonavista, on account of not being able to work them. Had they actually been damaged, or could he have figured out how to use them eventually? The Templars wouldn’t know either way, “Damaged, sadly. Beyond all repair.”

Du Casse nodded and beckoned him over to a wooden box. He opened it to reveal an assortment of wristblades similar to Walpole’s. “Have your choice.” Du Casse told Edward.

Edward browsed the selection of blades, equipping a pair he found to be in better condition than the others. Perhaps if these ones weren't broken, he could work out how to use them. “Where did you find all these?” He asked Du Casse, pretending to examine the design of his new blades, while trying to identify an operating mechanism.

“I did not find them, I took them. Proof of my loyalty to the Order. You have your maps, and Monsieur Rogers has...?”

“Experience in pest control.” Rogers asserted. “I have been in Madagascar some fourteen months, hunting pirates. Governor Torres is keen to see me use what I have learned against the criminals of the West Indies.”

Edward was startled by Rogers’ reply. “And what is it that you've learned from your expedition?”

“That Libertalia, the supposed pirate utopia, was in fact nothing more than a collection of ramshackle huts, built by drunks and occupied by degenerates, and, that most pirates would rather return to England penniless than be hanged for their wrongdoings.”

Now Edward was worried. If Rogers went and offered full pardons to the pirates of Nassau, there would be no telling what trouble it would cause. He didn’t want to probe any further, but he had to be sure, “I suppose Nassau would be your target in the West Indies?”

“Indeed. Once Nassau has fallen back into place, there will be no safe port for pirates to offload their goods, and so they will be forced to retire or starve.”

“Ah.” Rogers had it about right. Pirates couldn’t sell their spoils without forging documents to make it seem like lawful business, and making those forgeries was best left to the unscrupulous merchants of Nassau, since most pirates couldn’t read or write. “Best of luck with that.” He was right about the Templars sounding too good to be true.

They started making their way past the shooting range and down towards a new set of targets, stationed in various places between two huts.

“We put together a little training course in anticipation of your arrival.” Rogers explained.

“Would you indulge us with a demonstration of your techniques?” Asked du Casse.

“Yes, of course.” It was almost as if they knew Edward was an impostor, and were simply toying with him before they killed him. He still had no idea how to work the wristblades, despite his fiddling with them on the way down to the training course.

“You see? Situations well suited to your skills.” Du Casse said, gesturing at the new targets. “Why don’t you start simple. A blade in the crowd. Quick and clean.”

Rogers pointed to a target standing out in the open. Edward was furious with himself for not keeping Walpole’s blades. Even if they were broken, he could have taken them to be repaired, or failing that, simply broken them open to see the internal mechanism. He couldn’t do anything about it now. If he couldn’t operate the blades, they’d know he wasn’t Walpole. He couldn’t say these blades were broken, because they were in pristine condition, and had probably been tested before. He clenched his fists in exasperation, as if the act of tensing his arm muscles to show how much he needed the blades would somehow convince them to work.

They did. Not because the blades understood how desperate his situation was, but because the mechanism was released by applying pressure to the inside of the blade’s sheath. Edward couldn’t help but let out a sigh. He flexed his wrists a few more times, the blade sliding in and out of its sheath perfectly. “There we go. You have to keep them oiled, or they go a bit stiff...” He said, knowing it was probably true. Quick and clean. He walked up to the target, activated one of the blades, and stabbed his canvas-and-straw victim through the back. Rogers and du Casse started calling out techniques they wanted to see him perform, and he followed their suggestions as well as he could.

“Your aerial kills have a poetic beauty, despite their conspicuous quality,” Du Casse said. “Would you show us?”

Edward, fairly certain that du Casse was asking him to jump down onto one of the targets, began to climb one of the buildings. He remembered how Walpole had leapt into the air before driving his blade into Captain Bramah’s back. Finding a suitable target, Edward took a deep breath and dropped down onto it, his blade activating in mid-air and piercing the target between the shoulder blades, with such force that it tore a hole all the way through.

“ _Magnifique_!”

“Beautifully done, Duncan!”

A servant from the mansion gestured to the three of them to follow him. Governor Torres would see them now.

“The Assassins have trained you well, Duncan. And in the prime of your life, you chose a perfect time to leave them behind.” Du Casse said, as the servant lead them through the mansion’s courtyard.

“But at great risk.” Rogers added. “Betraying the Assassins is never good for one’s health.”

“Well, neither is drinking liquor, but I am drawn to its dangers all the same.” Edward replied. The servant gestured for them to descend some steps onto the mansion’s balcony, where an old man was sitting at a table arranging his letters. A large man in a thick suit of armour was standing close by, and Edward recognised him as El Tiburón, the executioner from yesterday’s hanging. He hoped that Torres’ man wouldn’t recognise him from there, as he’d have to explain to Torres why he’d not come to see him straight away.

“Grand Master Torres! Mister Duncan Walpole has arrived.” Rogers announced.

“Si...” Torres looked up from his papers and peered at Edward. “You were expected one week ago.”

“Apologies, Governor. We were set upon by pirates,” Edward fought to remember the name of the ship the _Jacobite_ had sunk. “The _Intrigue_ was scuttled. I arrived only yesterday.” Edward thought that ought to do it. Even if El Tiburón _had_ seen him yesterday, Torres could hardly complain that Edward had taken a day to recuperate.

“Most unfortunate,” Torres said, to Edward’s relief. “Forgive my caution, but were you able to salvage from these pirates the items you promised me?”

“I was.” Edward reached into his satchel, taking out the maps and that odd little glass cube.

Torres took the cube and held it up to the light, examining it from every angle. “ _Increíble_. The Assassins have more resources than I had imagined,” His eyes shifted across the faces of his guests. “But not nearly enough to deter us. Come, gentlemen, we have much to discuss...”


	5. Playing Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and the others are inducted into the Templar Order, but as Torres reveals the progress of his search for the Observatory, and what the Templars will do once they have it, Edward realises he's at the wrong party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the delay, and also for the shortness of this chapter.

Torres led them all out of the sun and into a pavilion at one corner of the mansion. He laid the glass cube and Walpole’s map on the table in the centre, noting the four names annotated in locations all across the West Indies. Antó in Kingston, Upton Travers in Nassau, and Opía Apito in Grand Cayman. Edward had no idea who they were, but he was running dangerously low on information, so he tried to memorise their names in case they turned out to be useful. There was a fourth name written next to Havana, but just as Edward leant in to read it, it was obscured by the placement of another paper, a drawing of a machine consisting of rotatable rings. Edward had seen a machine like it before, they were used to show the positions of the planets, or something to that effect.

Torres looked around the room and smiled. “Convened at last, and in such continental company. England, France, Spain. Citizens of sad and corrupted empires.” He took a small rounded box from El Tiburón. “But you are Templars now. The secret and true legislators of the world. Please, hold out your hands.” Torres asked them.

Rogers and du Casse both did so, and Edward followed them quickly enough for nobody to notice. This was starting to get very strange.

“Mark and remember our purpose.” Torres said, taking a gold ring from the box and placing it on du Casse’s ring finger. “To guide all wayward souls, ‘till they reach a quiet road.” He told him. Rogers was next. “To guide all wayward desire, ‘till impassioned hearts are cooled.” Then he came to Edward. “To guide all wayward minds, to safe and sober thought.” Set into the ring was the symbol of Torres’ Order, a red cross. “By the Father of Understanding’s light, let our work now begin.” The Grand Master said, leaning over the table and spreading out some of the papers so the others could see.

Edward didn’t like the sound of all this. His own freedoms were precious to him, and though his morals were a little lax in places, he at least knew it was wrong to try and control people. Right now, he just wanted to get back to Nassau, back to being Edward Kenway. But he he’d need at least 1’000 reales to charter a ship from Havana. If he could just hold on until the meeting was over, Torres would give him his reward, and he could be drinking with Thatch and the others at the Old Avery by next week. He wandered around the room while Torres explained to them all what the papers meant.

“Decades ago, the Counsel entrusted me with the task of locating in these West Indies a forgotten place our Precursors once called the Observatory.” Torres gestured to the papers, one was a sketch of an odd stone structure rising out of a jungle landscape, another was a drawing of some kind of complex machine. “Look upon these images and commit them to memory. They tell a very old and important story. For two decades now I have endeavoured to locate this Observatory... A place rumoured to contain a tool of incredible utility and power. It houses a kind of armillary sphere, if you like. A device that would grant us the power to locate and monitor every man and woman on Earth, whatever their location. Only imagine what it would mean to have such a power. With this device, there would be no secrets among men, no lies, no trickery. Only justice. Pure justice. This is the Observatory's promise. And we must take it for our own.”

A device that can spy on anyone in the world? Madness, surely... But if it was true, Edward’s escape plan was scuttled. He’d never be able to carry on as a pirate, because once the Templars had the Observatory, they could find out exactly where he was. There’d be nowhere for him to hide. Or anyone else. Even Thatch, smart as he was, wouldn’t be able to evade the eye of that ancient machine.

“Do we know its whereabouts?” Rogers asked, pulling Edward out of his thoughts.

“We will soon,” Torres assured him. “In our custody is a man named Roberts, once called a Sage. He alone knows the Observatory’s location.”

“It has been forty-five years since anyone has seen a true Sage. Can you be sure this one is authentic?” Du Casse said, taking a more cynical view.

“We are confident that he is.” Is all Torres said.

Edward tried to keep his composure while his mind raced. There was only _one_ man who knew where the Observatory was, and the Templars already had him. How was it that some secret order was on the brink of controlling the entire world, and he was only just hearing about it now?

“The Assassins will come for him.” Rogers said.

Of course. The Assassins had followed Edward to Torres’ mansion, they must know of Walpole’s betrayal. Edward wondered if they knew he wasn’t actually Walpole. Either way, there would be an attack on the Templars, and he'd likely be in the middle of it. He'd have to tell the Assassins he wasn't Walpole, even if it meant the Templars found out he was an impostor. The alternative was them finding out after they had the Observatory, which would definitely be worse. This wasn't turning out to be a good day for him.

“Indeed they will,” Torres said. “But thanks to Duncan and the information he has delivered, the Assassins won't be a problem for much longer. Their Bureau leaders tend to hide in plain sight, documenting our movements and reporting back to their Mentor in code. Most Assassins know little of their identities, but Duncan has managed to gather these names during his time in the West Indies.” Torres waved a hand over the central map. “I wonder, were you able to kill the Mayan Mentor, Ah Tabai?” He was looking at Edward.

“Ah, I’m afraid not. Too many complications along the way.”

“No matter. The maps you have delivered will see that job finished. All will be made clear tomorrow, gentlemen, when you meet the Sage for yourselves.” Torres went to another table, putting the glass cube down next to some decorated cups. “Until then, let us drink.”

While Torres filled each of the cups with wine, Edward picked up one of Walpole’s papers, the diagram of the Observatory’s mechanism, and quickly hid it in one of his pockets.

“We will find the Observatory together. For with its power, kings will fall, clergy will cower, and hearts and minds of the world will be ours.” Torres said, raising a toast. Rogers promised Torres the use of his ships to help find the Observatory, and du Casse promised a steady supply of weapons and ammunition to help keep the Templars ahead of the Assassins. Then they both left, evidently pleased to have been initiated into the Templar Order at such a vital time.

“Grand Master, about my reward…” Edward had decided that he might as well take the Templars' gold, in case the Assassins wouldn't accept his apology, and he had to escape.

“Rest well, Duncan. Tomorrow the Treasure Fleet arrives, and with it your reward. Meet me down at the docks, first thing tomorrow morning.”

A treasure fleet? How much was he getting paid? “I look forward to it.” He said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. A _treasure fleet_. Perhaps he'd be able to evade the Templars after all.

As he waited for a servant to arrive to escort him from the mansion, he glanced back at the map on the table. Where Havana had been obscured by the Observatory diagram, the city and the name connected to it was now clearly visible. _Rhona Dinsmore_.

Edward had met her a couple of times in his occupation as a privateer, mainly in bars. Her wit could cut twice as deep as her cutlass, and she could drink most of Edward’s crewmates under the table – though not at the same time.

Change of plan. He’d have to go and find her. Not only could her life now be in danger, but she’d be his best chance of making peace with the Assassins, and warning them of the Templar plot to find the Observatory. Still, it would be nice if he could get his hands on his reward before then.


	6. Coming Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward must go in search of Rhona Dinsmore, now a Master Assassin, who he hopes to convince of his innocence (or at least his ignorance), before the other Assassins catch up with him.

Returning to the streets of Havana, Edward now had a much clearer picture of who Walpole was and what he’d been doing before his death. Walpole had betrayed the Assassins, bringing the names of their leaders to Governor Torres, the Templar Grand Master in the West Indies. Torres planned to launch attacks on the Assassins using Walpole’s information, and at the same time, locate the Observatory, an ancient device capable of monitoring anyone on Earth, so that the Templars could wipe out the Assassins and anyone else they didn’t like, and take control of the world. So there was a slight problem.

The key to Edward’s continued survival was finding Rhona Dinsmore, an Assassin mentioned on Walpole’s map. If Edward could convince her not to kill him on sight, and call off the other Assassins, it would at least give him time to explain himself. Hopefully, the Assassins could use his information in their fight against the Templars. They might even let him help.

Unfortunately, he had no idea where he would find her. The only times they’d ever met, she'd been either drinking in a tavern, or fighting outside one. But she was an Assassin now, all white robes and secrecy. Perhaps she’d left all the drinking and brawling behind her when she joined. As a member of a secret order, she wouldn’t want to attract that kind of attention.

Edward had been making his way to the centre of the city as he was thinking all of this. It was mid-afternoon and the markets would be filled with people, so it would make it that much harder for the Assassins to launch an attack. Although, he didn’t know whether the Assassins actually had rules against killing civilians. In fact, all he knew was that they dressed funny, killed people, and didn’t like the Templars. It seemed an odd career choice, but who was he to judge?

When he turned the next corner, he saw a man in robes leaning against a wall, a few buildings down. Cursing under his breath, he quickly turned down another street, only to see another Assassin there, making her way towards him through a crowd. _Dinsmore?_ Edward squinted to see the face beneath the shadow of the Assassin’s hood, but it wasn’t Rhona’s. He slipped through an alleyway before she got too close. The next street seemed empty of robed killers, but he couldn’t be too sure. He jogged over to a group of drunken revellers. From the songs they were singing, he suspected they were fellow pirates.

“Hey, any of you lot seen a bunch of jokers in robes like mine?”

“Yeah, there’s one stood right next to ya!”

Edward whipped around, expecting to see an Assassin with their blade poised. He soon realised that the pirate was simply so drunk he was seeing double. “Keep an eye out for me, will you?” Not that they would be much use in their condition.

“Aye, they won’t get past us…” One of them assured him, swinging his fists around in an uncoordinated manner to try and prove his point.

If they were sober enough, they would be an extra pair of eyes, to alert Edward if an Assassin tried to creep up behind him. And if they were drunk enough, they’d help create a scene so he could escape.

He was only halfway down the street when one of the slightly more sober pirates shouted to him. “Hey, I found one!”

He glanced behind him to see two Assassins striding towards him from the end of the street, blocking his way back. The way ahead was still clear, but he figured he’d be running into a trap if he carried on, so he climbed a nearby ladder onto the roof of a row of shops. Running along rooftops is a dangerous pastime, even when you’re not being followed by members of a secret order of trained killers, but Edward was light on his feet, sprinting across the buildings, dodging chimneys and jumping across alleyways with ease. The Assassins weren't so easily shaken off, though. He spotted one running along the houses to his left, and another hauling themselves onto the roof at the end of his row. The street was far too wide for him to jump across to the next row, so he had no choice but to return to street level. He skidded to a halt at the edge of the roof and dropped down onto the dusty ground, rolling to spread out the force of the impact. Jumping back to his feet, he attempted to dust himself off, and looked up and down the street for any more Assassins.

It was then that he realised that he was standing outside the tavern from the other day. He went inside without a second thought and started looking around for somewhere to sit, hoping that no daring Assassin would leap down from the roof and stab him full of holes while he did so. It had to be early evening by now; the tavern was packed, with some people heading in for a quick drink on their way home, and others sitting down with their mates to celebrate the end of a hard day’s work. His eyes flicked between the entrance and the stairs at the back, as he weaved between the busy tables trying to find an empty seat. Halfway around the room, a chair was nudged out into his path. He looked at the boot that had moved it, and then across the table to its owner. A familiar face, at last. And just the one he needed to see.

“Rhona!” He put on a grin, as if he was greeting an old friend.

“Edward.” Not quite of the same mind, she put a finger to her lips with one hand, and gestured for him to sit down at her table with the other. Once he was seated, she took a sip from a bottle of rum on the table. “I suppose you’d better start from the beginning.” As she said that, two Assassins walked into the tavern, taking up places on either side of the door. Edward realised that they hadn't been stalking him, he'd been _lead_ here, herded into the tavern like a stray sheep into its barn. Embarrassing, really.

He sighed, accepting the defeat. “What do you want to know?”

She took another sip of rum. “Hmm. Let’s start with what happened to Duncan Walpole, and work from there." There was a note of irritation in her voice, but otherwise she seemed calmer than Edward had thought she would be. Maybe the Assassins taught themselves to keep all that anger on the inside until the moment they needed to use it. For some reason, Edward wasn’t comforted by that idea.

He kept his voice nice and low, and the details as sketchy as he could. The wrong word heard across the room by the wrong person could lead to them calling the guards. “I met him in Cape Bonavista. There was a… Misunderstanding. It didn’t end well for him.”

“Obviously, or you’d not be wearing his clothes.”

“Obviously.” Edward wasn’t sure if the sarcasm was a sign of her temper escalating or subsiding. Either way, she needed to know the truth, and sooner rather than later. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rhona was already there with her next question.

“So, how come you’re in Havana?” She asked casually, like she was catching up with a friend.

Not much could be heard over the din of so many conversations, but Edward kept his voice down and talked as quickly as he could, in case there was a lull as he said an important word. It wouldn’t do to have a Templar spy in the tavern hear what he was about to say. “Walpole had a letter on him from Governor Torres, mentioning a reward for the contents of his satchel. There was a map with your name on it, and three other Bureau leaders. And a glass cube, Torres said it had something to do with a place called the Observatory.”

It was Rhona’s turn to sigh. “We know what the Observatory does. That glass cube you gave them is one of the Blood Vials that can be used to open it. The Observatory needs a Sage’s blood to work, and the Sage is also the only one who knows where it is. We got word that the Templars had captured one, and were bringing him to Havana. Walpole was supposed to intercept them, but then he went and turned Templar, so now they have him as well. Between bringing them the maps and the Vial, you've just about doomed us all.”

Edward was silent for a moment. It was true, if he hadn't decided to play dress-up to make a few reales, the Assassins wouldn’t now be at the mercy of the Templars. And he wouldn’t be at the mercy of the Assassins, either.

“I… I’m sorry.” He stared at the table in front of him to avoid meeting Rhona’s eyes. “I was just trying to get some money together. My ship was sunk by Walpole’s, I lost all my savings…”

Rhona’s expression softened. “The _Jacobite_? I’m sorry about that, Edward, I really am, and I know that you had no idea about the consequences, but you've put us in a really bad situation. I’ll do what I can to keep the other Assassins off your back in Havana, but I can’t vouch for the other Bureau leaders. Is there anything else you can tell me about your meeting with the Templars? The sooner we solve this, the better.” There wasn't really a non-patronising way to say it, and Edward was starting to feel like a child. A child who'd been caught messing in _adult_ business. 

“Torres told me to meet him by the docks tomorrow morning, to see the Sage. And get my reward.”

Rhona sat back and thought for a moment. It took her longer to decide whether to tell Edward her plan than to come up with it in the first place. “When you go to meet him, we’ll follow along and ambush them once they’re in a vulnerable spot. You just keep up your good-little-Templar act, and make sure you’re out of the way once the attack starts, alright? You can keep the reward they give you, it’s only money out of the Templars’ pockets.”

Edward knew he was in the Assassins' debt after what he'd done, so he was willing to go along with anything Rhona could suggest. He had to make amends somehow. “Alright.” Something Rhona had said about ‘pockets’ made him remember, “Oh, I picked this up while they weren't looking,” He took the Observatory diagram out of his pocket and passed it across the table. “Can it really do what Torres said? Spy on anyone in the world, from anywhere?”

Rhona studied the diagram for a moment, before folding it up and putting in it one of the pouches on her belt. “Whether it can or not, we can’t take the risk.”

“I understand. Good luck, I suppose.”

“Thanks, Edward. Hopefully, we’ll fix this mess before it gets any more out of hand, and you can go back to being… You.” Edward wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or an insult. Rhona took a last swig of her drink and got up, heading for the exit.

Edward jumped up and followed her to the doorway. “Rhona, wait.” The Assassins guarding the door both turned, still wary of him, but Rhona made them stand down with a quick hand motion.

“What is it? And keep your voice down, I don’t want everyone hearing my name.”

“Sorry,” He whispered, “Where will I find you afterwards?”

Rhona sighed once more. “You can’t. Sorry, but I’d be risking too much if I told you where the Bureau is.”

“Right. Goodbye, then?”

“Goodbye.”

Once Rhona and the two Assassins had left, Edward went back to his seat, ordering a few drinks to help him process the day’s findings. It didn’t take long before he started to worry. What if the Templars were expecting an ambush tomorrow? He’d seen how many guards had been patrolling Torres’ mansion, how many more did he have at his disposal to escort the Sage from the Treasure Fleet? If there were too many, and the Assassins failed, no one would be there to stop the Templars from finding the Observatory. Edward couldn’t leave it to chance, not when so much was at stake. He’d have to help the Assassins somehow, or if they wouldn’t let him, he’d sabotage the Templars on his own. He had an advantage over the Assassins, the Templars thought he was one of theirs.

So, to business. The Templars needed the Sage to find the Observatory, and his blood in a Blood Vial to open it. Edward didn’t know for sure if the Sage was going to help the Templars willingly, but the fact that he had been ‘captured’ suggests that he wasn’t. If the Templars lost him, or the Blood Vial, they wouldn’t be going anywhere. So all Edward would have to do is remove one of them, the Vial or the Sage, from the equation.

Now, the Sage could be anyone, a hulking beast with a history of combat who could escape the Templars easily with just a little help from him, or a weedy fellow who couldn’t hold his own or run away fast enough. Freeing the Sage might not even be possible either way. The Vial, however, was made of glass or possibly clear crystal, and, judging by Torres’ reaction when he saw it, the first and only one the Templars had. Without it, they couldn’t get into the Observatory except by stealing another one from the Assassins. If the Assassins even _had_ another one. Edward had fast hands, he could probably lift the Vial from Torres’ pocket and crush it under his foot during the ambush, and with a bit of luck the Templars would be too occupied fighting the Assassins to notice. Even if they survived the Assassin ambush, by the time they had regrouped, ‘Duncan’ will have disappeared for good.

That was the plan. But what to do before then? He knew he couldn’t spend the rest of the day in the tavern, he’d end up getting pissed and forget that he had somewhere to be tomorrow morning. He didn’t even trust himself to sit and play board games until nightfall. There was a group of whor- dancers down the road, perhaps he could pay them a visit? His tastes weren't anything out of the ordinary, though an English-speaking one would be handy - a few dozen reales should do it. He finished his last drink and wandered outside into the sun, to spend what would be his last night in Havana like any sailor his age would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might be a while in the making. As I've said before, I'm not dropping this.  
> Also, comments are most welcome.


	7. Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward returns to Torres and follows the Templars into the Assassin ambush. What happens next is heart-warming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot express how sorry I am that it's been so long since I've posted. Long story short, I now know everything there is to know about MMA electrodes, so now I can focus much more of my effort on this fic, which I hope is _far_ from basic. Sorry.

It wasn’t the first time in his life that Edward had woken up in a haystack, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

His plan to remain sober and alert by spending the evening in a brothel instead of a tavern had failed, despite his undoubtedly good intentions. It was true that the brothels in Havana weren't licensed to serve alcohol, because if they had been, all the pubs would have gone out of business by now. However, in some establishments, you could pay to ‘share a drink’ with one of the women - in between the usual activities. Because of this legal loophole, there had been nothing to stop Edward from having an excellent night all round, except that by about eight o'clock he’d run out of money. Instead of making his way back to the tavern, he found himself a haystack not far from the North end of the harbour and bedded down for the night.

And now, someone had found him.

“Hey, wake up. _Salir_!”A guard was prodding him with his foot.

“Alright, alright.” Edward said with a grin as he rolled out of the haystack, his hands raised in surrender. He stood up and shook the straw from his robes, combing his fingers through his hair to catch any stray pieces that had got lodged in there overnight. Then he kicked all the discarded straw back into the pile, and made sure he still had all his weapons with him. Lastly he went through his pockets, finding only a two-real coin and some more straw. Still, he was only a few hundred yards from his fortune now. He couldn’t help but laugh when he remembered that.

The guard watched all this with an amused smile on his face. “Duncan Walpole?” He asked him, once Edward had made himself presentable. Or what he hoped would pass as presentable.

“That would be me.” Edward smiled, then nodded to make it crystal clear to the guard, who was still trying to decipher his words.

“Governor Torres is waiting.” The guard said, gesturing for Edward to follow him.

“Alright then.” Knowing there wouldn’t be much conversation to be had with a guard who only spoke a few words of English, Edward went over his plan as they walked. Get the reward, wait for the ambush, destroy the Vial, and escape. He was so close. Reward, ambush, Vial, escape. The guard led him past the Castillo, that imposing fort full of soldiers that he’d broken into just two days ago. It all seemed so unreal, but in a good way. It felt as if he could accomplish anything now, and that very soon the world would be his oyster.

They approached the North end of the docks, and the guard craned his neck, looking for something behind the docked ships. They passed fishing boats and a merchant schooner or two, and Edward wasn't sure what they were looking for, until he saw it. Anchored opposite the harbour was a huge Spanish Galleon. The early morning sun cast rays of gold across its starboard side, and the waves lapped at its hull, gently rocking it like a cradle. For a brief moment Edward imagined himself as Captain of that ship, striding across the quarterdeck, as her crew scrambled to make port. It was the most beautiful thing Edward had ever seen. Apart from his wife, of course.

“El San Ignacio.” The guard offered. Edward was too awestruck to reply. The fact that his reward was somewhere on that ship didn’t help matters.

The Galleon was actually too large to dock at the harbour, so a Brig and two Frigates were busy ferrying its treasure over in small loads. Edward reckoned it’d take them the rest of the day to transfer it all. One of the Frigates was being unloaded, and Edward stayed a while to watch it. Along with gold coins, rare jewels and exotic relics, a cargo of even greater value was being brought out. A man in tattered clothing, handcuffed and escorted by four officers. The Sage.

“Poor sod,” Edward said, “He should've run faster.”

“ _Que_?” Asked the guard, who was waiting close by.

“Nothing - _de nada_.” Edward said. “So where’s Torres, then?”

“Over here, Duncan.” Said a voice from behind him.

Edward turned and saw that the voice belonged to Woodes Rogers. The other Templars were close by, accompanied by Torres’ mysterious bodyguard El Tiburón. Edward's escort was dismissed as he went over to meet them.

“This way, gentlemen.” Torres said, leading them to the officers surrounding the Sage.

After dragging him from the hold of the ship, they’d forced him into a chair and manacled his hands together. His face bore the evidence that he hadn't been so compliant when he was first captured. He glared at Torres as they approached.

“Here he is, a man both Templars and Assassins have sought for over a decade. I am told your name is Roberts, is this so?” For a moment, it seemed like Torres hoped the Sage would be happy to help them, despite all they had done to him so far. But Roberts, or whatever he was called, remained silent. A look of disappointment flashed across Torres’ face for a mere moment, before he took out the Blood Vial and held it in front of the Sage. “You recognise this, I think.” Roberts shifted in his chair as El Tiburón grabbed his hands and held them out for Torres, who pushed gently on one side of the Vial to open it and pierced Robert’s thumb with one of the sharp edges. Roberts never took his eyes off Torres while the other man collected his blood in the Vial.

Du Casse explained the process, “According to the old tales, the blood of a Sage is required to enter the Observatory.”

Once the Vial was full, Torres closed it again, sealing the drop of blood in its centre. “We have the key, now we need only its location. Perhaps mister Roberts will be eager to provide it?” _Not likely_ , Edward thought. Torres addressed his bodyguard and the other soldiers, “Transfer him to my residence.” He gestured for the rest of the group to follow.

Edward wondered how long it would take for the Assassins to get into position. He had to get his reward before then, or find himself rifling through the Templars’ pockets after the ambush. He thought of steering the conversation in the direction of his reward, but if the attack failed it’d look far too suspicious. Instead he asked about the Observatory. “Grand Master, if no one living has seen the Observatory, can we even be sure that it exists?”

“ _Si_ , _si_ ,” Torres insisted, “We may know little about how Precursor devices work, but all of them are recognisable by their immense power. The Mayans once spoke of the Observatory, and in trying to understand how it came to be, they painted a picture of obscure gods and magic rituals. Our scholars recognised evidence of the Precursors in their stories.”

“I see.” Edward glanced around, looking for the Assassins getting ready to make their move. The rooftops and alleyways seemed empty so far. Edward wondered where they would choose to strike. Out in the open like they were now, or along a narrow street so they could block any escape?

Rogers must have picked up on Edward’s unease, but thankfully he misjudged the reason for it. “I don’t like this route, Torres. We’re exposed.”

“Something is wrong. Stay close, Grand Master!” Du Casse rushed to Torres’ side, but not without keeping an eye on the Sage. They passed under an archway, and Edward was certain that this was when the Assassins would make their move.

“I feel it too. Do not let them get their hands on the Sage, whatever the cost!”

Edward and the Templars passed under the archway without interruption. Where were the Assassins? The Sage was right here, with only three soldiers and the other Templars guarding him. What were they waiting for? Edward tried to forget about them, and focus on his own plan.

“Grand Master, do any more Blood Vials exist? I’m curious, if ours was destroyed…” He trailed off, hoping Torres would pick it up from there.

Torres laughed, “ _Destroyed_? All the Precursor Artefacts were created to function for thousands of years. The Vials are made of an immeasurably strong material, more similar to a flawless diamond than glass. That is how they have survived for so long.”

Balls.

Edward would have to steal the Vial and hide it somewhere. Perhaps bury it on a desert island, or throw it into the sea.

“However, you are right to ask what our course of action would be if we were to lose this Vial. Our scholars believe there are more of them hidden within the Mayan ruins around the West Indies. Losing the Vial would delay us, but only by a few months.”

Balls!

The only way to prevent the Templars from accessing the Observatory was to free the Sage _and _steal the Vial. But first, Edward needed a distraction. Any time now would be nice…__

__“Assassins, above! On the rooftops!” Rogers was the first to spot them._ _

__Assassins leapt down from every available ledge. He hoped that they’d all been briefed about his innocence, or he might not make it out alive. If they did all know, he might be the _only_ one to make it out alive. The Vial was in Torres’ bag. As the Assassins on the ground moved in, the ones on the rooftops took out wooden pipes and raised them to their lips. For a moment Edward thought they were going to play some kind of battle tune._ _

__When they started firing poisoned darts at the Templars, Edward wasn’t sure what was more embarrassing, that he had mistaken the pipes for musical instruments, or that when one of them hit him in the neck he twisted and fell to the ground, thinking he’d been shot. Falling over turned out to be a good idea, though, because the darts fired at the Templars had been dipped in some kind of sleeping toxin, and they were all on the ground too._ _

__Except for El Tiburón, Edward quickly realised. The dart aimed at his neck had been blocked by the hardened leather protecting El Tiburón's joints. It must have been boiling underneath all that armour. But even weighed down by all that steel and leather, Torres' bodyguard was a formidable adversary. Three Assassins fell before his bare hands, and a fourth he struck down by taking a heavy axe from one of the fallen brutes, and throwing it thirty feet across the road._ _

__Edward pretended to be under the effects of the sleeping toxin while he watched an Assassin run forward and break open the Sage’s manacles. The Sage rewarded the young man for his help by grabbing hold of his wrists, setting off the wristblade mechanism, and driving the blades into the poor lad’s face. The Sage wasted no time in making a swift exit, leaving the Assassin screaming on the floor._ _

__“The Sage is escaping, stop him!” Torres ordered. The Grand Master and the others were still recovering from the effects of the poison darts, and he’d dropped his bag in the confusion.Edward couldn't just scoop it up and run, the Templars could all see the bag now._ _

__“Get the bag! We can’t lose the Vial!” Edward shouted, and the retreating Assassins heard him. One of them dashed over and took the bag as they all scarpered, leaving Edward free to pursue the Sage. If the Templars got to him first, they could still use his blood to open the Observatory. Edward had to catch him, and kill him, to make sure the Templars couldn’t do that. It seemed very unfair that the man should die, but Edward reminded himself that many more would die or be made slaves to the likes of Torres if the Templars got to the Observatory. As for the Assassins, he couldn’t be sure if they truly intended to leave it alone either. Why else would the Sage - 'Roberts' - have killed the Assassin that had freed him?_ _

__He sprinted down the street after the Sage, and spotted him climbing onto a rooftop. "You're a nimble one, I'll give you that!" There was a crane lift at the side of the building, and Edward knew from having seen a couple of dockworkers messing around back in Bristol, that the crate being lifted would counter his weight if he cut the rope at the bottom and held on tight. The trick was not to get caught and crushed by the crate falling the other way. Edward drew one of his swords and slashed at the rope, taking hold of the loose end with his free hand. The crate smashed harmlessly on the ground beneath him just as he reached the top of the roof. He could see that Roberts was streets ahead, darting across the rooftops like his life depended on it. It did, really. Edward raced after him, taking every little shortcut he could find to close the distance between them. “Stop! Or I'll kneecap you!” He shouted, but the man wasn’t listening. Edward hoped the Templars hadn't heard the slight Welsh inflection in his shouting voice._ _

__When they came to a gap between the houses that was too large to jump, Roberts dropped to ground level, barging through groups of merchants and sailors, and never once glancing back at his pursuer. Reluctant to lose any height, Edward simply leapt into a nearby tree and scrambled across, landing safely on the other side. Now, he was nearly close enough to jump down onto his target._ _

__But while Roberts ran freely across the open, level ground, Edward had to follow the rooftops, which wound around the streets just as much as the streets wound around them. Soon Roberts began to regain his lead, and Edward was starting to tire from the constant leaping between trees and houses. There was neither a Templar, nor an Assassin in sight. If the Sage managed to break free now, he could disappear into the city streets, slip onto a ship bound for wherever, and leave Havana, never to return. That was Edward’s plan, how dare he!_ _

__A single shot was all it would take to end this chase, which was very lucky, because that’s all Edward had. He took out his pistol and skidded to a halt right where he was. Roberts was still running, either completely oblivious to, or acutely aware of what Edward was doing – which was an unsettling thought, really. Edward took aim. He held his breath to steady his shaking hand, and tried to ignore the burning sensation that had been building in his chest. He fired._ _

__He missed._ _


	8. Give Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward can't give up now, not with the Sage so close, and the fate of the free world hanging in the balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no words I can use to apologise for the delay. Except those. And those. And-
> 
> Anyway, I'll try and figure out the next chapter by the end of the week, and upload it within the next three.
> 
> At least you know that no matter how long it takes me to update, I always will, eventually.

Edward was running again. His lungs were complaining at the end of every breath, his ankles felt like they were on fire, and his feet had actually started going numb. It was a small miracle that he hadn’t collapsed by now. But he had to keep going, he had to catch Roberts before he escaped. It was the only way he and his friends in Nassau would be safe. He ran on, forcing his feet to carry him faster and faster over the rooftops.

He saw Roberts skid to a halt up ahead. He’d run into a dead end, and was facing steep walls on three sides. This was Edward’s chance. He put on a final burst of speed to close the gap between him and the Sage, but alas, in doing so, caught his foot on a loose floor tile. His feet slid from under him and he fell, crashing onto the sloped roof and rolling down into empty space. His hands reached out instinctively for something, anything that could stop his fall. He found something. There was a washing line stretched along the side of two houses. It seemed like it was just his luck that instead of being stable enough that Edward could haul himself back up, the washing line broke at his end when he caught hold. In free-fall again for a few seconds, Edward had just enough time to curse the work ethic of the Havanan roofers, before the other end of the line went taught, propelling him forwards in a graceful arc. The Sage had heard the sound of tiles smashing on the ground behind him, and had turned to see what had become of his pursuer. Edward let go of the washing line at the opportune moment, flying towards Roberts, who didn’t know what was happening until it was too late. Edward landed on the Sage with enough force to break a few of the man’s ribs. Roberts gave an indignant “Oof” and went still under him. Edward put his knees on either side of the man’s chest to trap him there while he caught his breath. But what about Roberts? Was he even still breathing? Edward glanced at him and waited until he saw his chest rise and fall softly. He supposed it was better this way, better for the man to die in his sleep rather than struggle against the inevitable.

But as raised his hand to engage his wristblade, a thin shadow moved into his line of sight, distorted by the low morning sun. Edward winced, expecting a Templar bullet in the back of his head. After a few moments, he figured that whoever it was hadn’t realised what he had been about to do. He stayed still for a moment and glared at Roberts’ unconscious form, as if he was daring him to wake up. He was hoping that whoever it was that had found him would think that he was simply taking no chances in guarding him.

“I don’t think he’s getting up from that.” Said an unfamiliar voice.

“Did you see what happened?” Said another.

“Yes! This _diablo loco_ leapt down from the heavens and knocked him down as he tried to flee!” Said a third, excited voice.

Edward looked up and found that a small group of onlookers had gathered around him and the Sage. He had to get rid of them somehow, before the Templars did show up.

“If he’s a devil, why did he come from the heavens?” The first voice spoke again.

“It’s a metaphor!” The third voice exclaimed.

Edward took out his pistol again and pointed it in the general direction of the bystanders, hoping that none of them would notice that the hammer was already down, meaning the pistol had already been fired. On the bright side, at least it wouldn’t go off while he was waving it in people’s faces.

“Clear off! This is the Governor’s business!” He shouted, and that seemed to work. Whether it was because the ‘concerned citizens’ didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Governor Torres, or simply because they didn’t want to get shot, Edward didn’t know. After the crowd dispersed, only two shadows remained; his own, and one other that upon turning, he realised, belonged to Woodes Rogers.

“You caught him, Duncan. Excellent. Still breathing, I hope?” Rogers panted, still out of breath himself.

Edward could only nod.

“Excellent,” He repeated, “The others escorted The Grand Master back to his mansion. They’re all safe.”

_So much for that Assassin ambush._

Rogers studied the Sage’s body. “We can’t carry him on our own.” He glanced up and down the street and spotted two soldiers standing around in an alcove not forty feet away, seemingly oblivious to everything that had just happened. “Guards! Over here!” The soldiers glanced at Edward and Rogers, and shuffled over when they recognised them as associates of their Governor.

“ _Cuál es el problema_?” Asked the shorter of the two.

“This, is a wanted man.” Rogers stated, pointing at Roberts, who was still far from conscious. “We need you to bring him to the Governor’s residence.”

The shorter guard looked to the taller, apparently waiting for a translation. The taller one turned to Rogers and asked “Uh, Please to repeat?”

Rogers sighed. “Move him,” He pointed again to Rogers’ body, “To, Governor Torres’ mans-” He sighed again, “House. Please.”

The taller one nodded and relayed the information to his comrade, before they lifted the Sage’s body between them, and followed Edward and Rogers to the mansion.

***

When they arrived at the gates, Torres, du Casse and El Tiburón were waiting for them. Torres thanked the soldiers for their aid, and bade them return to their post.

Torres waited until the guards were out of earshot before he spoke again. “Well done, Duncan.” He gave Edward a brief smile before letting it give way to a disappointed frown. “Unfortunately, we lost the Vial during the ambush, but thanks to your research of the Assassin Bureaus, we know the name of the Assassin who orchestrated the attack. We will pinpoint their location and send our own agents in to retrieve the Vial, and remove what remains of the Assassin presence in Havana at the same time.” Then Torres turned to El Tiburón, “Escort Señor Roberts to the prisons. And double the watch.”

***

Edward and the other Templars were gathered outside the prisons within the grounds of Torres’ mansion. The Sage had been thrown rather unceremoniously into the cell, with new shackles and a guard detail spread across the mansion’s grounds that put Port Royal’s Gaolers to shame. With their dwindling numbers, the Assassins wouldn’t be able to reach him, not unless they were currently building a tunnel under the mansion. An unlikely scenario, but an entertaining thought nonetheless.

Despite everything that had gone wrong today, Edward had at least learned something. The Sage was definitely not willing to help the Templars.

“Well, I’ll be buggered, what an active day we’ve had, gents!” Rogers grinned.

A _day_? It felt like months had passed since Edward had first laid eyes on the Sage, not mere hours.

“ _Sí_ , beset on all sides by our enemies.” Torres said, “We must be more cautious. The Assassins already have our Vial, if they acquired the Sage as well…”

“Grand Master?” Du Casse asked after a moment.

“What is it, Julien?”

“‘If they acquired the Sage as well’. What would they do?”

“Hide him away, like they did with his predecessor,” Torres explained, “They fear the Observatory’s power, and rightly so. Once we possess it, they are all as good as dead.”

And so was Edward. He had to go and find Rhona and the other Assassins. Warn them of what was to come. They _could_ escape, leave Havana with the Vial and scatter themselves throughout the West Indies. But if that failed? If the Templars found another Vial? No, there was only one way to put a stop to this. Kill the Sage. The Vial was a hardened crystal, but the Sage was flesh and blood.

“Well, I do wish I could remain to see this drama done, but I must avail myself of these winds, and sail for England.” Rogers said, bowing to Torres.

“By all means, Captain.” Torres replied. “Speed and fortune to you.”

“Thank you, Grand Master. With luck, I'll return myself a governor,” He broke into a grin, “And with my idiot King's blessing, no less. _Adiós_!”

As Roberts left, Torres turned to Edward. “As for you, Mr. Walpole...” Torres held his hand out as El Tiburón handed him a bag of coins. “I consider this the first payment in a long-term investment. _Gracias_.”

“Obliged.” Edward replied, taking the bag and weighing it in his palm as Torres turned and dismissed El Tiburón.

A servant came to escort Edward from the mansion, and Torres spoke to him one last time. “I would like you to be present for the interrogation tomorrow. Call around noon.”

“Yes, sir.”

Noon. Where would Edward be by then?


	9. Speak Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward finds the Assassin Bureau, with a little help from an actual Assassin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should just stop apologising and get on with writing these things.
> 
> In other news, anyone seeing the pattern forming in the chapter titles?

It was early evening by the time Edward left Torres’ mansion with his reward, but the day was far from over. No taverns, no brothels, and no falling into haystacks tonight. He had to find the Havanan Assassins, or what was left of them, and try to warn Rhona that the Templars planned to hunt them down.

The last time they’d met was by coincidence, the coincidence being that she’d wanted to speak to him as urgently as he’d wanted to speak to her. Now she’d be busy with the aftermath of the failed ambush, so all Edward could do was wander through Havana in that direction, in the hope of finding clues as to where the Assassins had retreated to.

He found himself standing in the square where the Templars had been attacked. The Havanan citizens milled around him, oblivious to the remaining evidence of the fight. He leant against a nearby haycart and surveyed the scene. The faint smell of gunpowder clinging to the uniform of the guard walking past. Lead shot embedded in walls and window shutters. Fragments of a fallen roof tile. A poison dart on the ground by his foot. Components of a broken hidden blade, scattered across the square by the moving crowd.

Blood in all its forms. Long, diluted streaks of it in the gutters. Droplets scattered down every alleyway in the wake of the retreating Assassins. Silhouetted spray patterns against the walls. Congealed pools dotting the square wherever someone had bled to death. Edward tried to count the pools, but the crowd continued to shift and move, blocking his view. He sighed, uncrossing his arms and resting them on the bottom slat of the cart. He drew his hands away as quickly as he’d placed them down, feeling a line of wetness there that he hoped wasn’t yet more blood, but alas, there it was, dripping out of the side of the cart.

\- Dripping? He turned and leant over the side of the cart to look at the hay. Some strands were slicked with red, and beneath those Edward could see patches of white cotton, shifting rhythmically as whoever was lying there took slow breaths. It seemed that not all of the Assassins had made it out of the square.

“You okay there, mate?” He addressed the pile of hay. The Assassin ignored him. Perhaps he thought Edward was just a nosy civilian. He lowered his voice and spoke again, knowing the guards might recognise certain words. “Need any help getting back to your Bureau? To our mutual friend Miss _Dinsmore_?”

The Assassin went still at the mention of Rhona’s name. Edward, happy to see a reaction, waited patiently as his offer was considered.

“ _Es seguro salir_?” A woman’s voice came from the left end of the cart. For a moment, Edward thought that perhaps he was not talking to an Assassin, but a civilian who had taken shelter in the cart when the fighting had started. But moments later he remembered, he’d seen a female Assassin when he’d been herded into the tavern, and Rhona herself was the bureau leader. He decided he’d try not to make any more assumptions when dealing with Assassins and their associates.

“ _Es seguro_?” The Assassin whispered to him this time, wary of the guards.

Edward realised he had no idea what she was saying. “ _Inglés_?” He asked. He heard a sigh from inside the hay.

“Is... Safe?” The Assassin asked him.

Ah, _seguro_ – like secure... Edward glanced around the square. As long as no guards saw them acting suspiciously, the crowds would conceal them until they were at least out of the square. If they were lucky, they could tag along with small groups all the way to the bureau. “ _Si, es seguro_.” He replied in his best Spanish accent.

“ _Eso es lo peor acento que he oído nunca_.” The Assassin muttered, straining as she hauled herself up out of the hay. Her outer robes had been all but torn apart to bandage the wound across her stomach, the source of the blood leaking out of the cart. Lying still for so long had helped slow the bleeding, but now that she was up and about, she’d need a doctor, and soon.

Edward helped her down from the cart and waited patiently while she got her bearings and realised who he was from his robes.

“Walpole’s _imitador_.” She wasn’t too impressed.

“Edward.” He amended, offering his hand to shake. She looked him up and down once again, even less impressed with his friendly demeanour in the face of his past crimes. Edward let his hand fall. “Look, _you_ need help getting back to the _Bureau_ , and _I_ have vital information to give to _Rhona_. So let’s get going before that _guard_ over there comes by and asks why you’re wearing rags.” He inclined his head towards the guard in question, then flicked his hand at the remains of her robes.

Whether she understood his words or actions, Edward didn’t know, but the Assassin sighed, offering him the hand that wasn’t occupied compressing her wound. “Valentina.”

“Follow.” She said, turning and merging seamlessly into a nearby crowd.

“Of course.” Edward murmured, nosing his way into the same group. It didn’t take long for Valentina to impress him with how quickly and stealthily she moved, despite her injured state. She slipped in and out of different streams of people like a well-captained ship navigating the winds and currents. Groups of guards passed by every so often, paying neither of them any mind. Edward walked a little faster until he was alongside her. “So, how did the rest of the ambush go? Did the Assassins all retreat when the Sage ran off?”

Valentina was silent for a moment as she tried to figure out what he’d just said. When that didn’t work, she shrugged and looked to him, “Slow. Speak Slow.”

“Sorry. What happened in the square?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? You were there the whole time.”

“Asleep.”

“You fell asleep? What did you do that for?” Edward raised his voice slightly, ignoring the look of irritation shot at him by the civilian to his left.

“From this!” Valentina pointed to the wound with her free hand.

“Oh, the blood loss.” That made more sense. But it was also worrying. What if she fainted again? Would the guards finally become suspicious of them if he started carrying her around?

“Look, a doctor’s office. Over there.” Edward pointed down the street they were on.

Valentina scoffed. “Bureau doctor, much better.”

“How so?”

“No...” Failing to find the right word, she made a sawing motion across her leg with her free hand.

“No amputation. Right.”

As they passed by the doctor’s surgery, Valentina grimaced at the sight of an assistant washing out bloody rags in a bucket of water so they could be used again in another operation (or vivisection. It was about a fifty-fifty chance).

Edward sighed. The crowds were thinning out now, and Valentina didn’t have the strength to keep following the meandering paths for much further. They’d need more cover. He turned to her. “We can’t keep following the crowds, they go where they want. You’ll bleed out before we get there if we don’t come up with a better idea.” He tried to explain, hoping that she understood him on some level. She paused for a second, then nodded.

They continued along this street for a while, Valentina glancing around for inspiration or aid. Edward was growing increasingly concerned at the red stain growing beneath her hand, and the hitching sound her lungs made at the end of each exhale. “How far is it now?”

“ _Dos minutos_.” She replied, glancing at him briefly to make sure he understood. Edward nodded. “Longer, maybe.” Valentina admitted, leaving the safety of the crowd at the opportune moment to find a space on a bench. Edward sat down next to her and scanned the street ahead for guards, while she caught her breath and examined the state of her wound. The area around her left hand was deep red and visibly wet, the blood congealing in the gaps between her fingers.

“What was that, by the way?” Edward gestured to her wound.

“ _Bayoneta_.” She replied, as if she really meant ‘thumbtack’ or ‘sharp corner of a dresser’.

Edward winced. “How are you still walking?”

She reached into a pouch on her belt and took out a poison dart. “Sleep poison. Little bit.” To illustrate her point, she wiped the tip of the dart across the opening of her wound, before reapplying the pressure there. Now bloodied and useless, she dropped the dart to the ground and crushed it with her foot. Edward watched in silence, part of him wondering what the long-term health effects were of such an effective pain relief method, and part of him wondering why he didn’t have a dart pouch in his belt.

“We need to get you back to the Bureau.”

Valentina nodded, looking around for inspiration. “There.” She pointed to the corner of the street, where a group of ‘dancers’ stood waving to their potential patrons. Edward wasn’t sure of her meaning, but he liked the idea on several levels already. As one of the dancers looked round, he caught her eye. She gave him a well-practiced smile, which soon turned to a look of horror when she saw the bloodstained Assassin sitting next to him. She made her way over to them as quickly as her heels would allow, the other dancers following in her wake.

“Valentina! _Que pasó_?” She said. “ _Eso es lo que hemos escuchado en la plaza esta mañana_?” Edward thought he’d heard something about oranges. Or was it apples?

“ _He sido apuñalado_ , Maria.” Valentina replied. “ _Necesito ayuda para volver a mi Bureau_.”

At this point Edward decided he’d learn Spanish, just as soon as he’d stopped Torres from accessing the Observatory and killing him and all the Assassins, and stopped Woodes Rogers from taking over Nassau and disbanding the pirates there. And not before he’d become a wealthy and respected man, worthy of his wife’s love. _Wow_ , he had a lot to do.

“ _Bien. Vamos a proteger a vosotros_.” The first dancer, Maria, began helping Valentina up from the bench. She took a look at Edward’s robes of red, white and blue and switched to English for him. “Help her walk, we will provide cover and take you to the Bureau.” She said, allowing her fellow dancers to encircle them both. Maria led the group along the street, past where another quartet of dancers had already snatched up their corner, smiling maliciously at Maria’s group as they made their way past.

Maria turned to Edward and Valentina, “And you thought yours was a cut-throat business...”


	10. Dark, Come Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward meets with Rhona again, who gives him an opportunity to redeem himself in front of the other Assassins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the part I've been stuck on for so long, so hopefully I will be able to post more regularly from now.
> 
> I've added a part at the end since it was first posted, the product of some thoughts I had while I was writing the next one.

It was almost sunset when they reached the Assassin Bureau, an establishment consisting of a modest-sized cabin and its garden, surrounded by an eight-foot high fence to keep out prying eyes. An Assassin sprang out from a gap in the fence as they approached. He paused when he recognised one of his missing brethren.

“Valentina?”

“ _Tito, estás vivo_!” Valentina exclaimed, smiling at him despite her pain and fatigue. “ _Vi a tres guardias que te persiguen_!” She continued, to which Tito just grinned. It was only then that he saw the extent of her injuries. “ _Aquí, rápidamente_!” He took over from Edward and led her inside. The dancers that had hidden them said their goodbyes before returning to the streets.

Edward followed Tito and Valentina into the Bureau, where the remaining Assassins were sitting around tables in small groups, nursing their wounds and discussing the now bleak future of their secret order. An Assassin doctor guided Valentina to an unoccupied table and began to prepare a medicated dressing for her wound. The other Assassins watched Edward carefully as he glanced around for the woman he needed to speak to. He hoped they were staring at him because they were beginning to see him in a different light, rather than because they were sizing him up for a quick rendezvous with a hidden blade.

“Kenway.” Rhona’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and Edward spun on his heels to face her. She was on a table by herself, the Vial in one hand and the Observatory Diagram in the other. She put them both down to speak to him.

“Sit.”

Edward took a seat, acutely aware of the dozen or so pairs of eyes on him. “You have the Vial?”

“How observant of you, Edward.” She smirked. Her expression then softened. “Yes, and thanks for telling us about the satchel. Torres didn’t suspect anything?

“No, but to him it was no great loss. He reckons there are more of them, scattered across the West Indies. As long as he has Roberts, he can fill another Vial and use it.”

“I thought Roberts escaped.”

“I went after him so Torres wouldn’t suspect, but that Rogers bloke got there before I could do anything about it.” He let that last part hang in the air. After all, he was surrounded by trained killers, who were they to judge? “They took him back to Torres’ mansion. They’re going to start interrogating him tomorrow morning.”

Rhona nodded, then leaned back in her chair, her brow furrowed as she formulated another plan. Edward knew his redemption wouldn’t be complete until he helped the Assassins capture the Sage.

“You know the layout of the mansion and its gardens?”

“Most of it. The prisons are at the back, up against a high wall. You’d need to get in through the field and go all the way around the mansion to get there. I could draw you a map.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. That is, if you’re willing to help us again.”

“I don’t suppose I have a choice. I still need a ship back to Nassau.”

“You’ll have your ship. And if this day gets any worse for us, I might be joining you.” Rhona grimaced.

Edward nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

Rhona smiled and gestured to a table of Assassins who were busy gearing up. “Go with them to the mansion after dark, lead them to the prisons, and help them free the Sage. If Roberts won’t come willingly, one of them will give him something to knock him out. Do _not_ kill him. If he dies, a new Sage will be born, and there’s always a risk the Templars will find him first, so keep it in your sleeve. I’ll be coming with you. Killing Torres will take the pressure off of us, and give us time to rebuild.” She glanced at the injured Assassins all around the Bureau.

Edward nodded, then had a thought. “And what if _I_ find him first?” He grinned.

“Roberts is the main target, but if you find Torres out for a stroll in his gardens, be my guest. It might not be him, though, he has body doubles that live in his mansion as decoys when he’s on Templar business.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Sometimes more than one at a time. It must confuse the hell out of the servants.” They both laughed at the thought of multiple Torres’ living in the mansion all at once.

“I’ll know him if I see him.” Edward assured her.

“Alright then. Go talk to Tito, the quartermaster, for ammunition. And let him have a look at your blades, make sure the grappling hook and miniature crossbow are still working.”

“The what?”

“I’m joking.” Rhona grinned at him.

Edward shot a playful glare back at her. A grappling hook would have been handy. Why go all the way round the mansion when he could just climb over the back wall?

He mentioned this to Tito a few minutes later when he was having his blades checked, but the Bureau's quartermaster seemed too focused on his work to reply. He ran his thumb around each of the tiny gears in the blade’s mechanism to check they weren’t chipped, added some fresh oil, re-tensioned the spring, and replaced the protective cover on the first blade. He handed it back to Edward and started on the next one.

“These aren’t a matched pair. This one is decades older than the other.” He held the second blade up for Edward to see.

“It still works fine.”

“A testament to the blade’s design, not the care with which it was most recently owned.” Tito started pulling little pieces of straw out of the mechanism. “You made a Leap of Faith?”

“A what?”

“A Leap of Faith, when an Assassin dives from a high building to show their commitment to the Order. Traditionally they would land in a haystack.”

Apparently it took a lot of force to jam the strands that far into the blade’s mechanism. “Oh. I jumped from a church spire around here somewhere. But not for the Assassins. A friend needed my help.”

“And you just... Jumped?” He seemed surprised.

“It wasn’t much different from diving off a ship. It came natural.”

Tito nodded. Then something else on the blade caught his eye. He picked up a candle to illuminate it. A small symbol had been stamped into the blade’s base. It looked Aztec. Or maybe Mayan? Edward couldn’t tell.

Tito moved the blade out of the candlelight before Edward could commit the symbol to memory. “You can’t use this blade. I will find you another.”

“I told you, it works fine-”

“It doesn’t belong to you.” Tito interjected, walking off and leaving him at the supply table. He went straight to Rhona and showed her the blade. They spoke quietly, with solemn expressions. Edward realised that the blade, like the others in Du Casse’s box, had belonged to a fallen Assassin. Perhaps one of them had been close to the blade’s owner, and the symbol on the base was a clue to finding out who.

Edward peeled the leather cover off his remaining blade and examined it. Where before he hadn’t even noticed, there were two sets of initials etched on the blade’s base, a letter on each side of the central ridge. Two Assassins had owned the blade before him. Both with the same surname. A father and son, perhaps? He didn’t know if Assassins were allowed to have children.

As if he had read Edward’s mind, Tito returned with a blade, donated by one of the injured Assassins. “Please return it once the Sage has been captured, it belonged to his father.” He gestured to one of the Assassins, who nodded in Edward’s direction.

“Who did that other blade belong to?”

“Bahlam. An old Assassin Mentor. His grandson was killed by Templar mercenaries in a raid last year, and the blade was stolen. He was ten years old.” Tito was quiet for a moment. “Where did you find it?”

“Julien Du Casse was collecting them for Torres, to prove his loyalty.”

Tito’s expression tightened. “So he murders a boy so young the blade wouldn’t even fit him. Is he still in Havana?”

“As far as I know.”

“Good. Some of us have lost parents to this war. None should lose their children.”

Dark couldn’t come soon enough for Edward.


	11. Night Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and the remaining Assassins infiltrate Torres' mansion to recover the Sage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up soon. What is soon? I'm not sure.

Edward found Rhona in the doorway of a villa across from the Governor’s mansion. He approached her casually, but kept an eye on the group of guards in the gateway of the mansion’s garden.

“Where are the others?” He asked, keeping his voice barely above a whisper.

“In the alleyways and on the rooftops. They’ll give a signal once they’re all in position.” She replied.

“What kind of signal?” He asked, then he heard a faint thud and felt a tiny sharp pain in his left shoulder. Before he could turn to see what it was, Rhona plucked the dry poison dart out of his arm.

“That kind. It’s clean, like the one they hit you with in the square.”

“I’m glad.”

“There’s scaffolding on the wall by the gatehouse. I’ll take that way in, and make my way up to the mansion itself. If I find Torres, I’ll meet you by the prisons.” She turned to look him in the eye. “Edward, if anything happens, don’t come looking for me unless Roberts is secure.”

“I understand. Good luck.”

“Good luck yourself.”

\---

Flanked by four Assassins, Edward vaulted the fence not too far from the guards at the gate. He landed in a crouched position in a leafy shrub, hidden from view. He crept forward as a nearby guard passed his hiding spot as he wandered over to his mate for a chat.

“ _El gobernador estaba hablando acerca del visitante de Inglaterra. Él enviar exploradores a seguirlo a casa._ ”  
“ _Para que?_ ”

Edward crept right up to the shrub line behind the two guards.

“ _Dijo que nos llevaría directamente a la base enemiga._ ”

He tensed his wrists, his hidden blades engaging so smoothly and silently he had to look down to check they had moved at all. He was glad Tito had taken a look at them for him.

“ _Por lo que el visitante es un traidor?_ ”  
“ _Parece._ ”

With a final glance left and right to make sure there were no other guards in range, Edward rose to his feet and thrust his blades into each of the guards’ necks, holding onto their collars as they fell to soften the fall. He dragged the guards back into the bush, moving the thick leaves around them to make sure their bright yellow uniforms didn’t stand out. When he reached the edge of the bushes again, he saw that four other guards were now missing. One for each of the Assassins with him. He kept moving.

\---

Rhona scaled the scaffolding against the wall by the gatehouse, and dropped down into the bushes on the other side. She followed the steps up to the front of the mansion, picking off guards along the way to ease her escape. She couldn’t kill them all without one of the lookouts realising, but she figured she could get away with one in three, until she got rid of the lookouts. Edward and the others probably wouldn’t have that problem, she didn’t see a guard tower in the lower gardens.

\---

Edward was nearly at the end of the gardens, hidden between rows of bamboo, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He twisted round, hidden blades springing into place, ready to plunge into whatever was behind him. As he turned, he felt a pressure around his mouth, someone’s hand. With practiced ease, his foe batted away the first of his blades and dodged the other, still keeping a hand over Edward’s mouth. In the moonlight, Edward saw that it was only Tito. He let his hidden blades retract, and Tito removed his hand.

“We need to find the prison’s Warden. He’ll have the keys to the Sage’s cell.” Tito whispered. “Look for someone with a loop of keys on their belt.”

“Can’t one of you just pick the lock?”

“And risk it jamming _permanentemente_ if one of the picks breaks?”

“Fair point.”

Tito nodded in agreement. “I saw you handle those two guards back there. You have talent.”

“I see what you’re trying to do, and I'm afraid I have to decline. As soon as this is over, I’m heading back to Nassau to find another captain.”

Tito raised an eyebrow. “We have captains of our own.”

Edward turned to him with a smirk. “Not the kind of captain I’m looking for.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Something caught Tito’s attention, a soldier making his way down the stairs at the back of the gardens.

“That one, is he the Warden? Can you see any keys?”

Edward squinted at the figure in the distance, looking for the glimmer of metal keys on the man’s belt. For a few seconds he stared in vain, simply watching as the shape moved closer. Then he saw it. A kind of shimmering, like moonlight on the ocean. But it wasn’t the keys that were shimmering, it was the man himself. After a few seconds, the shimmering settled into a warm glow that emanated from the guard’s body, singling him out.

“That’s him.” He said, already moving towards the Warden.

\---

Rhona was crouching behind one of the crates in what Edward knew to be the shooting range, out of sight from the lookouts on the roof of the mansion. She crept forward to the wall overlooking the gardens to check on the others’ progress. As she suspected, the garden was nearly empty of Torres’ guards. There was one soldier making his way down the stone steps at the end of the garden, but as soon as he reached the line of bushes on the left, She saw Edward leap out and slam him into the ground, driving his hidden blade deep into the man’s chest. Edward searched the man’s pockets until he found a set of keys, holding them aloft to show one of the Assassins, who was still hidden in the bushes. Rhona smiled. She looked ahead to check that the coast was clear for them, which is when she saw a guard approaching the ledge beside the steps.

\---

A loud thud behind Edward made him jump. He whipped around and saw a guard’s body in the shadows beneath the ledge. Upon closer inspection; there was a blue-feathered poison dart sticking out of his uniform, in the vee of his shirt. Tito nodded towards the edge of the shooting range, where Edward could see Rhona silhouetted against the mansion, her blowpipe returning to its place on her back.

\---

Rhona watched as Edward and Tito climbed the stairs and disappeared again into the bushes. The other three Assassins followed, taking up positions by the huts. Satisfied, she started making her way towards the Mansion.

\---

Edward and Tito made their way along the bushes to the left, while the other Assassins wove between the huts where Edward had first demonstrated his 'Assassin' skills to the Templars.

They came to the foot of the guard tower, and Edward dove into the pile of hay beside it, just in time to burst out of the other side and drag a passing guard into the hay with him. He pushed the dead guard aside to make more room for himself, and was imagining Tito congratulating him on the way back to the Bureau, when he saw that same Assassin push one of the dead guard’s arms back inside the hay. It had been lying in full view before that. A moment later, Tito shuffled into the haypile beside Edward and whispered well-meaningly, “Don't worry, you're doing very well...”

Edward gritted his teeth at the faint praise. He reached out of the pile to drag another guard to his doom. “I’d love to stay and chat, but it’s getting a bit crowded in here.” He leapt out of the pile and started climbing the ladder to the guard tower.

\---

Rhona was hiding behind the tower on the roof of the mansion, afraid to move any further lest she be seen by the sniper in the upper gardens. The sniper’s tower was too far away for Rhona to use any of her darts, so she remained still, peeking out a few inches from behind the wall, waiting for one of the other Assassins to take care of him. Soon enough, Rhona could see Edward climbing the ladder on the far side of the tower. He peered over the edge of the platform, then grabbed one of the sniper’s ankles and pulled him down off the tower. Tito then leapt out of the haypile near the foot of the tower and threw the body into the hay to conceal it.

Rhona moved to the edge of the rooftop and watched as the other Assassins swept away the remaining guards by the huts. She glanced ahead of Edward and Tito, noting the pavilion adjoining the mansion where Edward, in the guise of Walpole, had been inducted into the Templar Order. The prisons were just beyond it. She crept around the tower and let herself in through an open window, disappearing into the mansion.

\---

Edward and the other Assassins made their way towards the prisons. When they were close to the prison’s gates, they came to a stop.

“Traitors first.” An Assassin said from behind him.

Edward turned to him, “ _Walpole_ was the traitor. I’m an _impostor_. There’s a difference.”

“Impostors first.” Said another Assassin.

Edward sighed and pushed on. As he passed through the open gates, the prison keys in hand, he spotted a guard on the floor to his left, in a pool of blood. Two more guards were lying dead just outside the prison. The Sage's cell was empty.

Edward turned at the sound of footsteps approaching.


	12. A Terrible Storm, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward enjoys a brief stay in the hold of a Spanish treasure galleon.

"I said wake up!"

Edward opened his eyes just in time to catch a death glare from a Spanish marine as he strode past their line of prisoners. There were four of them in total; Edward, a pirate named Adéwale, and two Spaniards who'd been arrested for desertion. They were all in bilboes, a device consisting of an iron bar across their ankles, only a few inches above the floor, secured by an iron padlock at one end. This is where they ate, slept, and even peed, as releasing one of them to go to the bathroom in privacy meant releasing them all, and there were only two guards down here on each shift, not enough to keep order if they tried to escape.

"Breakfast. Eat it quickly."

They had been at sea for less than a week. Every morning, a guard brought them gruel to eat, and over breakfast Edward replayed in his mind those crucial few hours that had caused him to end up here.

\---

He was standing in the Sage's empty prison cell, trying to figure out what had happened, when he heard a noise behind him. He turned around, just in time to catch a blow to the jaw from El Tiburón's gauntleted fist. He spun on his heels and fell to the floor from the force of it, multi-coloured dots swirling in his vision as he went all lightheaded. In a way it reminded him of his first kiss, but for the sharp pain and the possibility that he might've broken his jaw. As he crouched there on the floor, momentarily stunned, Torres and duCasse approached, followed by a small entourage of soldiers.

"What is your true name, rogue?" Torres asked, pushing Edward's hood away from his face.

"It's, ah," Edward took a moment to think up a good comeback. "Captain Pissoff!" He said, and did his best to grin at them with his sore mouth.

DuCasse murmured something in French. Torres had his guards hold Edward still while questioned him. "Where is the Sage? Did you set him free?"

"I had nothing to do with that, much as I wish I had." Edward spat. 

Torres paused. "And for what? Thanks to your meddling in our affairs, the Assassins in Cuba are now all but destroyed. I had spies follow you back to their Bureau. We have just concluded our business there."

Edward became aware of the smell of gunpowder in the air. It clung to the uniforms of the guards that were holding him. The decorative grooves in El Tiburón's armour were dark red, where the blood of slain Assassins had run into them and dried up.

If what they said was true, then Rhona, Tito, and the other three Assassins were the only ones left in Cuba.

Torres smiled as he saw the hope drain from Edward's face. "Take him to the ports. Send him to  _ Sevilla _ with the Treasure Fleet."

The guards started to drag Edward out of the prisons. He squinted at the nearby bushes as he passed, hoping Tito or one of the other Assassins was hidden there, ready to leap out and free him. But they had lost everything now, thanks to him. He couldn't blame any of them for leaving him. "Wait now!" He called back to Torres and duCasse, "I delivered your treasures, didn't I?"

"You did, yes," Torres replied from behind him. "But you robbed us of Duncan Walpole."

Once he was satisfied Edward was under control, Torres turned to El Tiburón. "He didn't come alone. Search the grounds. The Assassin presence in Cuba ends tonight."

\---

Edward stared at the bowl of gruel in front of him.

"What's the matter, not hungry?" The prisoner across from him grinned. His name was Adéwale, an escaped slave turned pirate, who’d been re-captured, and was being taken to Spain to serve as a translator for Spanish diplomats.

"I'd rather eat the tar between the floorboards." Edward replied.

Adéwale smiled and shook his head. "More for me then..." He moved his hand towards the small bowl, and Edward playfully batted it away before picking up a lump of the gruel in his fingers. It was grey in colour and a mixture of consistencies. The main part was like hard porridge, but there was a slimy grease that oozed out of it if you waited.

Edward passed the bowl across with his free hand, but continued staring at the ball of gruel. "I've just had an idea." Edward said.

Adéwale looked up at him, his own handful of gruel making a laboured escape back towards its bowl. "We grease the bar until we can slide it back and forth fast enough to break the lock at the end?"

"How did you-"

"It won't work, not yet. The guards will hear the noise and come looking, and if we are not out of these shackles by then...”

“Okay, okay. What's your plan, then?”

Adéwale paused. “The guards say there's a storm coming. They’ll go down into the hold to wait it out, leaving us up here alone. That is when we make our escape.”

“I have to admit, yours is the better plan,” Edward smiled, “But I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.” He tried to gesture with his gruelly hand, and a large chunk slid off and landed in his lap. “Oh, piss!”

Adéwale started laughing. “Don't worry, it’ll keep the mice away!”

“Oh, in that case, here you go!” Edward reached across and pretended to smear gruel on Adé’s shirt.

“ _Silencio_!” One of the other prisoners shouted, warning them of the approach of a guard. Edward and Adé fell silent.

It was an officer, in fact. The prisoners eyed him cautiously as he approached them. He scanned the four of them before his eyes settled on Edward.

“Are you Duncan Walpole?” The officer asked.

Edward sighed. “It's a long story.”

“Did you meet with a man called Dante Garcia? Arrange passage for him out of Havana?” The officer pressed.

Edward looked at him for a moment before answering. It wasn’t as if his luck could get any worse. “Aye,” He replied, “But the name’s Edward.”

The officer stared back at him for a moment, seemingly processing the information he’d just been given, then turned and left, as quickly as he’d arrived.

“Goodbye then.” Edward murmured.

“What was that about?” Adé asked.

“I’m not sure. I met a soldier called Dante in Havana. He helped me get some stolen cargo back to a friend of mine, and in return he went to Nassau with him, to start a new life.”

Adé raised an eyebrow. “I've heard Nassau was an island of sin. A place of drink, debauchery, prostitution and gambling.”

“Aye, that it is.” Edward grinned fondly.

“Our first port of call once we escape, then?”

“Absolutely. I’ll buy you a drink at the Old Avery, then we'll...” Edward trailed off the other prisoners called for hush once again. The officer from before had returned.

" _Eduard_.” The officer knelt down by the padlock securing the bilboes. He took out a key, sending ripples of excitement and anxiety down the iron bar to each of the men connected to it. “Only Eduard.” He said firmly to the other prisoners.


	13. A Terrible Storm, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is an unfortunate truth that most sailors can't swim. But neither can most bags of Spanish gold...

A few minutes later, Edward was standing at the front of the hold with the officer, in a small space between two head-high rows of supply crates. The officer had told the two guards on duty to move to the other side of the room so that they could speak somewhat privately, but they were still keeping an eye on him. While an escape attempt was out of the question at this stage, Edward made a note of this part of the ship. There were crates stacked about everywhere, full of everything from cannonballs and spare rigging, to bottles of rum. At the end of the room, there was a ladder leading up to the deck above, but the hatch was closed so Edward couldn’t see what was up there. Presumably the crew’s quarters.

“My name is Nerio Garcia,” The officer began, “Dante is my brother. I got a letter from him in Havana that said he was deserting, and leaving Cuba for good. Where did he go?”

Edward looked at the man for a moment, considering how to phrase his reply. The officer was understandably concerned for his brother, but on the other hand, he probably wouldn’t be too happy to find out where Dante had gone. Nassau didn’t exactly have a sterling reputation. “He’s safe. He’s sailing with a friend of mine, a decent bloke.”

Officer Garcia wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “Where? Where did they go?”

It felt like the conversation was on a set course, and there was nothing Edward could do but steer it to its destination. “Nassau. He went to Nassau.” He admitted.

Nerio straightened up. “Are you certain?” He seemed more surprised than shocked.

Edward nodded. “Unless the ship’s master had a change of heart, and went back to his plantation. But Nassau was their original course.”

Nerio was silent for a moment. Edward readied himself. One of the nearby crates shifted as the ship reached an angle it hadn’t before. The storm was getting closer.

Nerio finally spoke. “Thank you for helping my brother. _Guardias, aquí_!” He summoned the two guards to take Edward back to the others.

\---

When the next watch started their shift, Adé overheard them muttering about the entire fleet being ordered to stow their sails to wait out the storm. A few minutes later, they heard the unmistakable sound of the ship’s anchor punching into the water just below them.

As the weather deteriorated, so did Edward's mood. Adé tried to cheer him up by translating the jokes and humorous stories offered by the lively Spaniards they shared the bar with, but it was to no avail. They were all, quite literally, in the same boat. Despite their good humour, the two deserters would be hung in their home towns, to deter others from doing the same. Adé would be a slave again, forced to translate for diplomats in an embassy a thousand miles from his home. Edward would be taken to the Spanish headquarters of the Templars to be tortured for information, information he couldn’t provide, because his relationship with the Assassin and Templar orders began and ended at ‘I killed one of them and took their stuff’.

If the fleet made it to Spain at all. The waves were becoming more and more violent, and the wind had picked up, tilting the entire ship, even with the sails packed away. One of the guards whispered the word ‘ _huracán_ ’, and Edward didn’t need Adé’s help to know what that meant.

Silence fell over the four of them, and Edward listened instead to the sounds of the ocean, and the ship they were on. The groaning of the timbers around them as the waves rocked against the ship. The shuffling of feet on the deck above. The slamming of all the hatches as the ship prepared to wait out the storm. An urgent set of footsteps approaching.

A soldier appeared in the doorway, hurriedly relaying a message to the guards, who then followed them out of sight, leaving the prisoners alone.

“It _is_ a hurricane comin’. Adé said. “Everyone’s taking shelter until it passes.”

“Now’s our chance.” Edward swept some of the gruel off his shirt and smeared it on the bar, as they’d planned. Once the two Spaniards worked out what they were doing, they scrambled to help. A few minutes later, the bar was greased enough to slide back and forth, bashing the lock on the end repeatedly until it broke off. The four prisoners pushed the bar along until it slid off the other end, clattering to the floor.

Adé took charge. “Grab any weapons you can, we’re stealing a fast ship and getting out of here.” He repeated himself in Spanish so the other two could understand.

Edward stumbled across the now empty deck in search of weapons, and a way out. His legs had gone numb since he’d sat back down, and now it felt like a thousand tiny soldiers were jabbing him with their tiny swords. He reached the place where he’d spoken with Nerio, and saw the supply crates from before. No weapons in any of them. Most soldiers had to keep their weapons on them while they were on duty, and the armory was on another deck, so the chances of finding anything useful for their escape was slim.

“Over here, Edward!” Adé called from the next room. Edward went to see what he’d found. “What do you think?” He asked, wielding a small table knife he’d found as if it were a heavy sword. “A deadlier weapon, you’ve never seen, no?”

Edward chuckled. “Better than nothing.” He spotted some large crates nearby, with metal reinforcement all around. They were built to carry something heavy, he thought. He walked over to them, inspecting the solid-looking padlock on the nearest crate. “What d’you think’s in these?”

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” Adé picked a cannonball out of a nearby crate and swung it towards the lock. The first few times just dented the metal banding around it, but eventually something broke inside the lock, and Adé was able to pull it apart. Together, they lifted the heavy metal lid. Edward swallowed hard.

Gold.

Bars, plates, nuggets, and coins. The inside of the crate glittered with a gorgeous soft yellow light.

“Must be thousands of escudos’ worth in here.” Edward mused. It was certainly more gold than he’d ever seen in his life.

“I’m sure Spain won’t miss a few,” Adé replied, reaching for a handful of large 16-escudo coins, “And we’ll need some cash once we get to where we’re going.”

“Agreed.” Edward replied, running his hands through the gold. “Do you have pockets on you anywhere?”

Adé shook his head. “Get that bag of grain over there and empty it out. We’ll put everything in there.”

While Edward and Adé filled the bag with gold, the two spaniards inspected the hatch leading up to the crew's’ quarters. “ _Está cerrada_.”

“Locked.” Adé informed Edward. “We need to find another way out.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Edward replied, striding over to the set of double doors on the side of the ship. These doors would be used for loading cargo into the hold while the ship was in port. Edward lifted the plank off the inside of the door and opened them wide, immediately regretting it. The wind and rain rushed in, and the sound of the waves just a few feet below became a deafening roar. Edward struggled to shout above it. “We need to find a boat to carry the gold. There’s no way any of us can swim with it.”

Adé nodded. He left the bag of gold where it was, and went to the cargo hatch, following Edward out onto the ladder-like arrangement of planks that led up the hull to the top deck. One of the Spaniards clung to the side of the hatch and called up at them. “ _No puedo nadar_!”

“Adé shouted something down to them in Spanish. “They can’t swim.” He told Edward.

They made their way to the top deck to find it devoid of both soldiers and sailors. The rainwater washed over the deck as the ship was tossed about on the waves, making it difficult to maintain balance and grip. There were two large rowing boats under sheets by the mainmast. Adé got to work with his table knife, cutting the ropes that secured the nearest lifeboat to the deck, while Edward searched for a way they could launch the thing by themselves. It would take a dozen men to haul it over the side.


	14. A Terrible Storm, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It _would_ take a dozen of them.

As soon as he'd had the thought, Edward discovered a dozen men in chains at the front of the ship. Fellow prisoners. “Hey, you there! Help us!” One of them cried.

“What happened here?” Edward asked, as he helped to break them out.

“The guards went below and just left us here t’drown.”

“There’s a lifeboat back there,” Edward gestured aft towards where Adé was trying to drag the boat towards the edge of the deck. “Help us launch it, and we can escape.”

“I’d follow you t’hell for this, mate.” The man replied.

With the help of the other prisoners, Edward and Adé managed to haul the lifeboat over the edge of the ship and lower it down by its ropes. Once it was in the water, they climbed down and boarded it. The two Spaniards hadn’t idled while they waited for the boat, they brought two more sacks of gold coins with them onto the ship.

“What’s in those?” One of the Brits asked.

“Gold from the cargo hold.” Edward replied.

“Jaysus, we’re gonna be rich!” Another exclaimed.

“You sail with us until we reach Nassau, and a share of it’s yours.” Adé told him.

“Deal.” They all agreed.

“Now, let’s get this thing moving. Our target’s the Brig at the head of the fleet.”

“ _Eduard_!” A voice called from above. Edward looked up to see Nerio standing at the cargo door. He must’ve snuck out of the officers’ quarters at the rear of the ship. “This storm will kill us all. Let me come with you!”

Edward hesitated. Nerio was the only one with a sword, and just hours ago he was happy to put Edward back in chains. But they’d need as many hands as possible when they tried to sail the Brig. And Dante would never see his brother again if they left him there. “Jump on, man! Quickly!” He shouted. Nerio leapt aboard the lifeboat and picked up an oar.

“Now row!” Adé roared above the thunder.


	15. Welcome Home, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward, Adé and Nerio decide what to do after surviving the hurricane.

“By God, we pulled this one straight from the teeth of Neptune.”

Edward and Adéwale were standing on the poop deck of the _El Dorado_ , the Spanish merchant Brig they had captured and sailed out of the clutches of a full-blown hurricane. Below them on the main deck, a mixed crew of Spanish merchants and British pirates worked together to clear the debris from the storm. Nerio Garcia, the Spanish Navy officer who'd tagged along when they were escaping the Treasure Fleet, took it upon himself to organise the crew, alternating between Spanish and English to direct them in their tasks.

The merchant sailors they encountered had been quite pragmatic in the face of having their ship captured by pirates. When Edward leapt aboard and kicked their Captain over the rail, and told the crew to get the ship under-way or be thrown overboard, they got to work immediately. Edward didn't know if it was because of the shock of his sudden arrival, or the threat of the storm, but nobody questioned the change of command.

While Edward had steered the ship, Adé kept him informed of the surrounding storm and the pursuing gunboats, while Nerio relayed Edward's orders to the crew.

Now they were out of the storm, Nerio joined them on the poop deck to figure out what they were going to do next.

Nerio had just come up from the belly of the ship, where he'd discovered the _El Dorado_ ’s cargo; a hold full of tobacco. The only problem was, the delivery note for the cargo stated that the tobacco was to be sold exclusively to a Spanish trading company in Seville, the Treasure Fleet's original destination. If they tried to take the tobacco and sell it at any other port, either the delivery note or lack of one would alert the port authorities, who would investigate further, and assume from the change of captain that there had been a mutiny.

As far as their odd little crew was concerned, Nerio had the impression that the British pirates had bonded on the Treasure Fleet, and wanted to sail together as pirates again. The Spanish merchants, while glad of their fortunes since their ship was captured, weren't so keen on a life of crime, and just wanted to find another merchant captain to sail for.

Part of Edward wanted to take his share of the gold and return to Caroline in England, but the storm had damaged the ship and it wouldn't survive the journey across the Atlantic. It would need heavy repairs, and a full crew.

The other part of him knew that he was still partly responsible for what had happened in Havana. These ‘Templars’ were bad news for the West Indies, and probably the world in general, and he had given them the power they needed to put their grave plan into action.

The first step in repairing the damage he had done was to find the Assassin leaders. By his reckoning, the closest one was Upton Travers, in Nassau. Thanks to Walpole’s maps, Travers' life was now in danger. He deserved at least a warning, and, if Edward was honest with himself, any help he could provide.

“Nassau seems to be in the best interests of all of us.” Adé offered, and Edward was reminded of his promise to Adé of a drink at the Old Avery tavern if they survived the storm. “We can sell the tobacco on the cheap with no questions asked, the merchant sailors can depart and look for a new trading ship, and Nerio can go and look for his brother. If we sell the  _El Dorado_ , we'll have enough to stay here while the pirates and I look for a good captain to sail with, and Edward can find a ship to take him back to England.” 

“Sounds good.” Edward replied.

“What about the gold?” Nerio asked, keeping a low voice. “The merchants saw us bring it aboard in those sacks. If they don't already know what’s in there, they’ll have suspicions.”

Adé sighed. “It's true, we'd all be with Davy Jones right now if they hadn't helped us. But we promised shares to the two deserters, and to the pirates who helped us get the lifeboat ready. If we divide it any more, they might start fighting among themselves for a better cut.”

“What if we gave them a share of the money from the tobacco, instead?” Edward suggested. “They'll be the ones shifting it when we get to Nassau. They might as well see the benefit.”

The three of them agreed that the pirates and the two deserters would each get one share of the gold in exchange for their help, while the merchants would receive equal shares of the proceeds from the tobacco. Adé and Edward, as the masterminds of the escape attempt, would get four gold shares each, and Nerio, for his assistance in directing the crew, would get two shares.

Once this was agreed, Adé gave the order to set sail, Nerio repeated it in Spanish, and Edward took the wheel and steered them towards Nassau.


	16. Welcome Home, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Adé meet up with Thatch and Hornigold at the Old Avery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have only just realised that Nerio's brother is actually called Dante in the first chapter. I have absolutely no idea why I started calling him Hugo. I've gone back in the chapters and changed his name back to Dante, which I think suits him best. Apologies for the confusion. This is what happens when it takes literally three years to write the first six weeks of Edward's story. Ugh.

By the week’s end, the _El Dorado_ had safely reached Nassau’s North Beach, where she lay at anchor, overlooked by Nassau's old fort. The Spanish merchants had offloaded the tobacco and gone ashore to look for a new captain, while the pirates and deserters had remained aboard, waiting patiently as Nerio counted out their shares.

Edward and Adé received their shares first, each receiving five hundred or so coins, mostly of the largest, eight-escudo type. Lacking proper clothes with pockets and pouches, they hid their shares in some messenger bags they found in the hold. 

Edward had spotted his old captain, Ed Thatch, as they had approached the dock, so he offered to introduce Adé to the rest of the Flying Gang, to help match him to a pirate captain. 

They went ashore with their gold shares, which totalled some 40'000 reales each. They bartered with the merchants on the beach, acquiring new clothes to replace their prisoner's rags, and weapons for each of them to defend their newly-acquired gains. They paid only in half- and one-escudo coins, the smallest they had, and kept the rest out of sight. Edward purchased a new shirt and trousers, a smart brown waistcoat, and a pair of brown leather boots. While not as imposing as Walpole’s robes, which he'd lost when he was captured, they were light and comfortable, and had plenty of pockets. Next he bought himself a matched pair of rapiers, and a small throwing knife. Not quite the arsenal he would have felt safe walking around with, but at least it kept him light on his feet.

Adé bought a new shirt and pair of trousers, and a dark brown waistcoat of dense cotton. For weapons, he chose a pistol and a single cutlass. He purchased a large sail needle and a small length of cord from a nearby stall, and ducked into an empty tent. When he emerged, he was wearing a necklace with one of his large 8-escudo coins on it.

“Keep an eye on that, mate.” Edward warned.

“If they can get it off me, it's theirs.” Adé grinned.

After their little shopping trip, they went into the town, and found a few of the Flying Gang at the Old Avery, the open-air tavern believed to have once been owned by the Pirate King, Henry Avery.

“By God, you're a sight for salty eyes!” Benjamin Hornigold greeted Edward as they walked in. “Come you in and have a drink!”

“Morning, all.” Edward replied, subtly deflecting the compliment. Edward and Ben had never truly seen eye to eye. While most pirates plundered merchants and fought with navy ships from all empires, Hornigold refused to target any ship flying England's flag. It jarred with Edward's perception of what a pirate ought to be, but he tolerated Hornigold because he was one of Thatch’s old friends.

“Ahoy Kenway.” Thatch himself turned from the bar to greet him, drink in hand. “Who’s this?” He gestured to Adé.

“This is Adéwale. He saved my life not three days ago, and now he’s looking for a capable captain to sail under.” Edward grinned at this last part. “You wouldn't happen to know any, would you?”

“Blast you, Kenway,” Thatch roared. “I've missed havin’ you around.” He slapped Edward's shoulder and nipped back to the bar to order more drinks.

“Where'd you get that necklace, boy?” Hornigold asked Adé.

After a lifetime of having his fortunes and talents questioned in this way, and also not wanting to brag about their little adventure, or the gold they still carried, Adé kept his reply short and curt. “From a dead man, who thought it would bring him luck.” He said.

Hornigold seemed to accept the answer, but still had his eye on Adé. Edward could sense the tension hadn't fully dissipated, but didn't know what to do to ease it. He was grateful when Thatch returned with a fresh drink in each hand; one for Edward, and one for Adé. “So, what happened to the _Jacobite_? I saw you on that Spanish ship this morning. She yours?”

“It's complicated.” Edward replied honestly. “Were we Navy sailors, we could say she was ‘commandeered' by us in our hour of need.”

Thatch laughed. “Well, if that's how you want to put it. What’ll you do with her now? She looks like she could use a few days in a drydock.” He said.

“We're going to find someone to buy it off us. With my share of the money I'll be able to return to England. To Caroline.” Edward smiled, though he knew there was something else he had to do first.

Hornigold couldn't believe what he was hearing. A lecture was incoming. “Still dreaming on about that strumpet back in England? Why bother, when you could have any Betty you wanted, here and now. And the rum’s much fresher on this side of the Atlantic.”

“Don't listen to him,” Thatch interrupted, “It’s not all about drinking and carrying on with strange women. Or men. Or both. Anyway, we have an opportunity to build something here. A Republic, like none the world has ever seen. Out of the reach of kings, clergymen, and tax collectors.”

“A city where men and women can live as God made them; easy and free.” Hornigold added. “If you return to England, you'll be a farm-boy without a farm. A nobody. If you sail with us, you'll be a prince of the New World.”

Edward wasn't fully convinced. He had a lot on his mind at the moment, and rebelling against the empires of the world might not be the best move to make while the Templars were looking for the Observatory. 

Thatch could see that Edward was unsure. “Take a day or two to think about it, Kenway. We won't sail until we've found a good price for our last haul.” He turned to Adé. “As for you, Adéwale, I think I have just the Captain for you. Goes by the name of Kidd.” He grinned.

Edward bade them all farewell, and left the tavern. He was glad to have introduced Adé to Thatch, who no doubt would find him a good captain, but he felt conflicted over leaving Nassau behind. It was his home as much as England ever was. And maybe Hornigold was right; he was a farmer’s son, and no amount of gold would change that.

The sun was starting to set. He carried on walking back to the docks, back to the _El Dorado_ , which was now empty save for Nerio. The older Garcia brother had exchanged his Spanish officer's uniform for a less conspicuous but no less _yellow_ merchant's outfit; a butter-coloured overcoat with a beige shirt underneath, and light brown trousers. 

“ _Señor_ Kenway, the pirates found themselves a new captain and left. The merchants returned to take their tobacco money and empty their bunks, then they left too.”

“Just you and me, then.”

“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me where to find my brother. There are dozens of ships out here, and only you know which one he boarded in Havana.”

Edward didn't really have time to go and find Bonnet’s ship, but the moment he set upon describing what it looked like, he realised Nerio might think he was taking the piss. ‘ _It's got pink- and mint-trimmed sails, and a gold unicorn on the front. You can't miss it_.’ Believable, right?

“Walk with me, we're looking for a merchant schooner.” He said instead. Might as well see what kind of trouble Bonnet had got himself into by now.


End file.
